Taken by the Viking

‘Can you tell me why cats are allowed in the hall?’

‘Do you not have cats in the kitchen back where you come from?’

Annis shook her head.

Ingrid reached down and picked the black-and-white one up, cradling it in her arms. ‘This is Kisa, and the grey is Fress. They are beloved of the goddess Freya, and help to keep the mice down.’

Annis tried the unfamiliar names out and tentatively reached out a finger. Kisa responded immediately by purring and lifting her head backwards. ‘They are the largest cats I have ever seen.’

‘Kisa likes you. She is very picky about the people she lets stroke her. Cats can tell about people, you know.’ Ingrid gave a decisive nod. ‘I will like you as well, I think.’

Annis started to grind the barley again this time, following Ingrid’s instructions as Kisa settled at her feet.

Annis wiped the sweat from her brow. The sack, which had been full, sagged with only a few handfuls of grain left at the bottom. Two days of grinding barley had been hard work, but she was nearing the end. The only compensation was that she was exhausted at the end of the day and fell asleep next to Ingrid as soon as her eyes closed. No dreams of burning buildings or strong warriors, only blessed oblivion.

She lifted the grinding stone and started to work again.

‘Ow.’ The blister on her right hand tore open and every movement was like fire. Annis resisted the temptation to cry. Of everything that had happened to her, it was this blister that truly hurt. Such a stupid thing to cry over. The monks were undoubtedly suffering far worse, yet this morning she could hear the sound of their chanting as they went about the work of the farm. She used the corner of her apron-dress to wipe away a tear.

‘What is wrong?’ Ingrid asked, hurrying over from where she was making bread.

‘I held the stone wrong.’

‘Let me see your hands,’ Ingrid said, coming over.

Reluctantly Annis held out her hands. The red blister shone against her skin. ‘It is nothing as I said.’

Ingrid touched the blister. ‘Your hands are soft. You did not do this sort of work before.’

‘They will soon harden.’

‘Haakon waits for a large ransom, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Annis forced the word from her lips.

‘Does he know that you are being forced to do this work?’

‘I presume so.’ Annis felt pain at the back of her head echoing down to the base of her spine. She had no doubt that Haakon knew what she was doing and had ordered it, taking some sort of delight in humiliating her. ‘If I had some of my special ointment, I could soothe my hands.’

‘Where do you find this ointment?’ Ingrid stumbled over the last word.

‘I make it from herbs and tallow. A simple recipe to make, if you have the correct ingredients.’

‘That is a good thing.’ Ingrid smiled. ‘Do you know much about herbs and medicines?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘You are wasted here in the kitchen.’

Annis started to reply, but Ingrid had gone. Annis shrugged. She put her hand on the grinding stone and winced. Then she gritted her teeth. She would do this. She would not think about what her sister-in-law or her mother might be doing; instead she would recite the various medicines and herbs she knew. Anything to keep her mind occupied and away from the pounding pain.

She gave the quern another twist as hard as she could, ignoring the ache that shot up her arm. The grinding stone started to tip. Her hand went out the catch the heavy stone, but other, stronger hands were there, lifting it back up on to the table.

The air crackled with something that had not been there before. Slowly she turned.

Haakon stood next her with a large dog sitting at his side, wagging its plumed tail. How and when he had arrived she did not know—she had been concentrating that hard on the grinding. But he was here, looking most unlike the warrior she remembered from Lindisfarne.

He had bathed and his dark hair still bore shimmering droplets of water. Rather than his chain mail, he wore a soft blue fine-wool shirt over a pair of tightly fitting trousers. His feet were covered in butter-yellow leather boots. He exuded a vitality that filled the entire room.

‘Is there something you require, my lord?’ Annis asked.

She kept her voice cold and formal. She had no doubt who was responsible for her present difficulty. He would see that such chores would not break her spirit.

‘Ingrid came to find me. She said you complained.’

‘I am doing the job I was given—grinding barley.’ Annis concentrated on the grinding stone. ‘I may be slow, but the barley is being ground.’

‘You are a woman of many talents.’ His low voice contained a hint of laughter, irritating Annis. She certainly took no pleasure in being a captive. ‘What do you think, Floki?’

The dog tilted his head and barked.

‘There, you see, Floki agrees with me.’ Haakon reached down and gave the dog a titbit from one of the dishes.

‘I would have hardly been able to run my husband’s estate if I did not know how to grind wheat or barley.’ Annis gritted her teeth and hid her hands under her apron-dress. She kept her head held high, meeting his eyes, daring him to say differently.

He appeared to accept the statement. ‘And you find my language easy to understand. Ingrid said that you and she speak.’

‘I am a quick learner.’ Annis lifted a shoulder.

She reached for the hated stone. If she went back to work, maybe he would go away and she could concentrate on her task rather than how broad his shoulders were or how well his trousers moulded to his legs.

‘That makes life easier.’ Haakon’s hand caught hers and stilled her movement. The grip was firm, unhesitating. ‘I wish to speak to you away from the kitchen. My business with you is not for the large-eared gossips who inhabit this place.’

Annis stepped away from the table and tried to ignore the smirking faces of the other maidservants.

But what good would it do?

Haakon led the way to a small, private alcove, outside the main hall. A bench stood at one side, but Haakon stood regarding her, his face unyielding and stern.

‘Why did the monks allow you to speak on their behalf?’ he asked, breaking the silence. ‘They all have tongues.’

‘Nobody asked me to say anything. I decided to speak.’ The anger grew within Annis. ‘Someone had to.’

‘And they let you. Not one murmured a protest. Why?’

‘My uncle was the Abbot.’ Annis felt a light breeze push a strand of hair into her mouth. Instead of sea salt, it tasted faintly of wood smoke. She stared out at the bay where the serpent boats were pulled high on to the shore, the waves slightly lapping against the hulls. ‘The rule of the monastery is strong. They were fearful.’

‘And you are not.’

‘When the occasion demands…’ Annis ignored how tight her stomach felt. She knew whatever punishment he decided, she would speak again. Somebody had to give voice to the monks’ situation.

‘That explains much.’ Haakon’s face was inscrutable. ‘My stepmother was not best pleased.’

‘Have you sent the ransom demands?’

‘They will be sent on the next ship that leaves for the Holy Roman Empire. I have contacts in Charlemagne’s court.’

Annis gave a nod. No doubt Haakon would use this as an excuse to increase her ransom. She wanted to tell him that her stepfather would never pay to save her. He would deem it justification for taking control of all the lands around Birdoswald.

But the words refused to come. If she said them, then her tiniest spark of hope, the thing that kept her going at night, would be gone. Her home would be lost to her for ever.

‘I look forward to the answer.’ She pressed her palms into the folds of her gown to hide their sudden trembling.

‘You seem very sure.’

‘I am.’

It was a white lie. He would discover his mistake soon enough. In the meantime, she might be able to help the monks. The Church, she was positive, would provide the money. She had heard of cases before. The Church disliked Christians being slaves to pagans, but she felt that it only extended to its sworn people.

Maybe she should have made her vows as her uncle wanted her to. But she would have been paying lip-service to them. She had no real vocation. She desired a home, children and a husband who wanted her for herself and not for the property she’d bring. It would have been a lie to take those vows.

Haakon said nothing in reply as his fingers traced the outlines of the carved wooden pillar. It was as if they were caught in a contest, a battle of wills. Each was waiting for the other to speak. To lose. She was more aware than ever of his form, his strength.

‘Annis! Annis, where have you got to? The barley has to be finished! Annis!’ Tove’s shrill voice sounded, breaking the spell. ‘Annis! You will be punished.’

‘I need to get back to my work. Tove calls.’ Annis lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes. ‘Something I will try to do much more cheerfully from now on.’

‘Does Guthrun know that you are grinding, doing menial tasks?’ His eyes burned into her soul.

‘Tove rules the kitchen.’ Annis gave a careful shrug. She had to be fair. She had not seen the woman since she started working in the kitchen. She had no idea if Guthrun knew what Tove was doing or not. But she was not one to bear tales. ‘I do what is asked of me.’

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over. ‘You are unaccustomed to such work. Your palm is heavily blistered.’

Annis snatched her hand away. His touch sent strange tingles up her arm. ‘I am not used to being a captive either. The monks suffer far worse.’

Haakon’s eyes hardened to blazing blue points, but he made no attempt to recapture her hands.

‘The monks understand hard labour. Not one of them was born into the nobility. You are a lady. It is different.’ He rubbed his thumb across his lips. ‘Ingrid tells me that you can make ointment to soften hands, to heal blisters.’

‘I know of one,’ Annis replied carefully. Exactly what had Ingrid told him?

‘Then make it.’

‘I do not have the necessary herbs.’

‘Are they exotic? Or don’t you know what is required?’ His voice held no warmth.

Annis paused. She had to be careful. She had no wish to sound overly proud, and what if the ointment did not work? But to be given the chance! Anything was better than grinding barley. Quickly Annis listed the herbs she required, counting each one off on her fingertips and ending with lavender.

He nodded and his eyes took on a speculative but impressed expression. Annis struggled to contain her growing hope. Would he give her permission to try?

‘Intriguing.’ He wiped his hands against his trousers. ‘Return to your work.’

‘But…but…you will speak to Guthrun. About the ointment. It would take but a little time.’

‘Back to work, Annis. Do your appointed tasks.’

‘Is that an order?’ Annis asked, dismayed. She had been so certain.

His face became stern. ‘Do not try my patience any further.’

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