Page 46 of Paying the Viking's Price

‘And who says Brand is in a bad temper because of me?’

Hilda made a little tsking noise in the back of her throat. ‘You are blind, sweet cousin, blind.’

Edith rolled her eyes and left before she was tempted to say harsh truths to Hilda. Snapping at Hilda wasn’t going to solve her immediate problem. When she got outside, she picked up her skirt and ran towards the yard, trying to keep her imagination from seeing the worst.

Chapter Eight

To Edith’s surprise, Brand stood in the middle of the stable yard. He wore fresh clothes, far richer and more ostentatious than the ones he’d worn earlier to exercise in. The red cape trimmed with fur and gold arm rings screamed that he was a nobleman. Water sparkled off his hair like diamonds.

Edith smiled. He had obviously bathed in the lake again. Her heart gave an odd little thump.

He stood with one hand on her mare’s bridle and the other holding a much larger stallion. She pinched the bridge of her nose and ruthlessly suppressed the sudden leaping of her heart. Simply because Meera was saddled, it did not mean that she was about to be invited for a ride. There were so many possibilities, far more sensible reasons why he had Meera ready.

‘Is there some problem? Hilda and I are hard at work with the spinning. It needs to be done.’ She clenched her hands. She was not going to apologise for earlier either. She’d been right to confront him about Owen the Plough’s fears. ‘Are you leaving for parts unknown immediately? And you intend on using my mare as a packhorse? I will have you know that she is high spirited and needs care when handling.’

‘Not in the slightest. Your mare sounds like her mistress.’

‘What is wrong, then?’ Edith rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She wished now that she had grabbed a shawl. She wasn’t going to think about his linking her to Meera’s high spiritedness.

‘I want to put your knowledge to work, rather than have you do something you dislike such as spinning. Since you appear to know so much about the planting of corn, I require your assistance this afternoon.’ His eyes turned harder than flint. ‘We can visit the farmers together and you can explain to them why it is in their best interests to obey my orders.’

A spark of hope shot through her. He wanted to go for a ride with her. True, she’d have to explain why various farmers and tenants should obey Brand, but it was nothing when set against the sheer joy of being on a horse again. ‘You mean now?’

‘I would have hardly ordered your mare to be saddled if I meant tomorrow morning. Show me the estate.’ A faint smile tugged at his mouth. ‘That is...if you do ride.’

‘Much to my late husband’s disgust.’ Edith gave a small laugh, but it was impossible to know Brand’s feelings about this. ‘He felt no true lady should ride like a man. My dear mother would have agreed with him. She used to despair at my ways, but my father encouraged me. A good leader knows everything that happens in his territory, he used to say, and some day I would have to look after this land as if it were my first-born child.’

‘But you do ride.’

‘How else would I be able to visit all the parts of the estate in a single day?’ Edith glanced down at her gown. Thankfully she was wearing one of her old ones, rather than one of her best ones. ‘I designed my gown to be modest when I ride. It was my concession to my mother’s sensibilities, but practicality meant I had to ride, particularly when my late husband was away.’

Even that had been fought over every single time and she had never really dared to, except when he was away. When she had found out about his death, a wondrous peace had settled over her. She was never going to have to give up riding again. There was something about feeling the wind in her hair and the reins between her hands as she gave Meera her head and they galloped over the moors. She’d had Meera saddled and they rode long and hard that day.

Brand’s eyes turned sceptical. ‘Show me you can ride. Here and now.’

‘You don’t believe me.’

‘Northumbrian women rarely ride. All the ones I’ve seen in Jorvik take a cart.’

She forced her lips to smile. ‘Norsemen rarely read Latin. Even fewer write it with a fair hand.’

He inclined his head. ‘There is riding and then there is riding like the wind. I need you to be able to keep up with me if you wish to assist me. There again if you need to ride in a cart, you should say and stop pretending.’

---