Blind Allegiance (11 page)

She knew they were trying to guess
who
and
what
she was to Randvior.

Noelle looked past them and focused on her father’s former maids; Deanna, Katherine, and Johanna were being brought ashore, too. As soon as their feet hit ground, they scurried away from the men and flocked around her. Noelle smiled radiantly and wrapped her arms around two of them, while she tried to calm the third with comforting words. She reminded them of the small courtesies the
jarl
had shown them already. Even though they had been kept apart for ten days, they appeared unharmed.

“If he wished to mistreat us, I am sure he would have done so by now. He is at liberty to do with us as he pleases. I’ve sensed no malice in his heart.”

“And who are you to judge the
jarl’s
heart?” a stern, but feminine voice sounded from somewhere behind.

Noelle turned and locked eyes with a middle-aged woman with slightly graying-red hair. She was statuesque and Noelle instinctively recognized her. Randvior favored his mother.

“Well, girl?” she demanded.

Noelle took a deep breath, reluctant to say anything. Unfamiliar with the customs of these people, she didn’t wish to risk offending anyone—at least not until they had been properly introduced. His mother’s liquid-steel eyes reminded her so much of her lover’s that it made her shiver.

Aud Magnusson walked toward them. He strolled casually up the pathway and stopped next to Noelle.

“You were away longer than we expected,” the older woman said coldly.

Aud shrugged. “The
jarl
received a vision before we departed the Orkneys, instructing him to sail to Durham.”

“Durham?”

“The English—”

“Yes, yes,” she said dismissively. “I know the blasted place, Aud. What riches could possibly lure my son there
?
”

Noelle crinkled her nose, displeased with the already less than favorable opinion of her homeland. She bit her tongue, remembering what was at stake. This was no longer about her own welfare, the maids clinging to her skirts required protection. If she set herself at odds with Randvior’s mother, nothing would go well for them.

Aud looked around uncomfortably while the older woman kept a sharp eye on him. Finally, he faced Noelle again. “The girl . . .”

These men spoke truth as easily as her brother told lies. At this moment, Noelle wondered which caused more harm. Finesse, even if used sparingly, would have aided her cause much more.

Randvior’s mother opened her eyes wide with surprise. She exuded authority and conceitedness, grace, and power all at once. A formidable woman and she looked Noelle over like a head of livestock under consideration for purchase.

“She’s malnourished,” she commented unfavorably. “The color of her hair is simply unnatural, dyed I should think. So unlike the women my son typically favors. But who can keep up with a man’s passing obsessions? Once we take the shears to her head she’ll know her place in his household.”

Noelle turned abruptly and stared directly into her eyes. “You’ll have no easy time laying a finger upon my head,” she warned. “I’m quite aware of my position. My father is no commoner.”

To think she dared suggest cropping her hair.
A woman’s hair is her crown of glory—cut it and I shall become as insignificant as a bondswoman.
This was a cruel practice, utilized even in England, to distinguish between the classes.

Aud’s eyes darted between them. Noelle knew he was very familiar with feminine quarrels, he had three daughters.

As Lauga’s mouth dropped open, Noelle prayed a swarm of locusts would descend from heaven and fly inside, shutting her up for eternity.

“Do you know whom you address, girl?” she asked.

“There was never a question in my mind about your identity—Randvior is your son. I shall extend a courtesy you failed to show me by introducing myself. My name is, Lady Noelle Sinclair, and I am your son’s guest,
not
his slave.”

Her eyes became narrow slits, as gray and frigid as the North Sea. Color drained from her cheeks and she harrumphed, obviously unaccustomed to having her authority challenged. The similarities between mother and son were astounding.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I am Jarl Randvior’s mother, Lauga.”

Noelle nodded. If they could just start over, she would admit his mother deserved reverence. But if she threatened her again, Noelle was prepared to defend herself.

“I’m surprised my son bothered bringing home an English harridan. There are at least twenty women in the Trondelag
more worthy of his affection.”

Aud raised an arm above his head, signaling for reinforcements. No need. Randvior started up the footpath and the crowd turned away from the ensuing disagreement and focused exclusively on him. Much applause sounded as he came closer. Noelle met his eyes and smiled; he nodded and jogged the rest of the way, just in time to see his mother’s unpleasant face. He stepped in between them, and gave Noelle a sincere look.

“Odin må ha satt vinden i ryggen
.
Men hans forbannelse er på deg på samme tid, se tispe han sendte over vannet med deg som plager oss alle
.
”
Lauga’s tone left little to imagination.

“Nok! Du er min mor, men jeg har tenkt å bli viet til denne jenta, og vil ikke tolerere noen fornærmelser,”
Randvior countered, stepping closer.

They exchanged more heated words before Lauga finally relented and looked away spitefully.

Randvior grabbed Noelle’s hand. “I never intended for this to happen. My mother is overly protective of me, even though I’m a grown man.”

She managed to veil her truest feelings with a thin smile. The biting chill in the air made her teeth chatter, her fabric cloak poor protection against the rising wind. She searched the ground, frost crowned the wilted vegetation poking through patches of ice and snow. The wide path before them meandered up a hill, and people were walking to and from what she assumed was the direction of Randvior’s house.

More than anything, she wanted a hot bath, food, and sleep. Perhaps a night away from her lover’s amorous sexual appetite, too. It meant a chance to recover and figure out how she could deal with his antagonistic mother.

“Come,” Randvior said. He led her away, through a crowd of cheering admirers.

As they climbed to the top of the hill, she spotted the wood and stone longhouse that Randvior had so carefully described to her. It was situated in a valley, surrounded by forest and pastures. They walked down the incline and slowly approached the facade.

Ornamental stone and woodcarvings of mythical creatures graced the double-arched doorway at the entrance. A gray stone fence demarcated the main courtyard at the front, and dozens of men were seated at tables around a huge fire pit, eating and drinking. Once they realized their
jarl
had arrived, they dropped whatever they were holding and saluted him. Randvior released Noelle’s hand and walked ahead to greet them.

One of them handed him an ale horn. He raised it ceremoniously and swallowed. Amber liquid dripped down his beard as he smiled exuberantly, very much the barbarian she’d pictured him as in these familiar surroundings. She had to admit, she enjoyed seeing him this way. He offered high praise in both Norse and English. He thanked them for guarding his lands so loyally. The guards stood and saluted him again. Randvior reached inside his cloak and pulled out a leather coin bag. He tossed it on top of the nearest table.

“Silver,” he said.

Randvior pulled Noelle in front of him. “See what else I have brought home.”

Catcalls and whistling erupted.

Noelle frowned. How easily he reverted back to that uncivilized nature once he was surrounded by his kinsmen.

Once the laughter and noise stopped, Randvior spoke again. “I present to you Lady Noelle Sinclair. She will be staying here as my personal guest.”

Several men expressed their approval and offered their own titles and names. One name caught her attention,
Rafael Long-foot
. She looked at his feet. Completely normal. And Rafael seemed much too Spanish for a Norseman. Noelle couldn’t help but smile at their adolescent behavior.
Buffoons
.

Randvior continued, this time in Norse. She didn’t understand a word. Judging by the serious looks on his men’s faces, it must have been along the lines of
She’s mine. Keep your bloody hands off her.
But he had only referred to her as a guest.

Formalities complete, he escorted Noelle inside. The great hall was more spacious and well-appointed than she had expected. Rectangular in shape, it boasted the largest hearth and finest mantelpiece she’d ever seen. Along the north wall was a raised stage and throne. A less imposing chair stood next to Randvior’s seat and she wondered if one day she would occupy it. Her eyes slipped back to the over-sized throne.
Only kings sit on thrones. Just who is this man?

The chair was shaped as an ancient oak tree in full bloom. Silver and gold medallions, similar to the ornaments on Randvior’ boots, graced the tips of the branches. Golden-threaded tapestries depicting famous scenes from history, including what she believed were the infamous brothers, Romulus and Remus, suckling at the she-wolf’s teats in what one day would be the gateway to the city of Rome, decorated the walls. The flagstones were covered with luxuriously thick animal skins and soft carpets.

The high table sat on a wide dais steps lower than the throne. She counted eight rows of tables and benches below, where guests would feast alongside him. A room fit for a king.

The kitchens were located off the south end, from which permeated the irresistible scents of roasting meat and bread. Her stomach groaned miserably. Her diet had consisted mainly of salt fish and stale bread over the last ten days. She craved fresh meat. Randvior must have heard her hunger pangs and threw her a sympathetic look.

“There will be a grand feast this evening,
min lille dukke
, perhaps the kind you’ve attended at court. My storehouses will be depleted, but my stomach will not be disappointed for it. Do you want to take a bath?”

She cheered instantly, willing to forget hunger in trade for fresh water. She felt disgusting, sticky with salt, sweat, and who knew what else from head to toe. Two men came inside carrying her trunks.

Lauga interfered before her son could direct them. “Shall we settle your mistress in the thrall’s quarters where she’ll be most comfortable, or will she take one of the small chambers off the kitchen?”

Unaffected by his mother’s meddling, he waved his hand. “Enough folly, Lady Sinclair is an honored
guest
in this house. She will occupy the suite on the north end of the second floor.”

“Adjacent to
your
personal chambers?” She seemed truly scandalized by his choice, her intolerance growing by the second.

“Yes,” he answered. “Need I your permission to bed a girl under my own roof?”

Lauga puckered her lips in complete revilement. It was becoming painfully apparent to Noelle why he had revealed very little about his family. He spoke so fondly of his sire, sadly an invalid, crippled in a war nearly a decade ago. But his mother, he told her, was an accomplished
spaewife
. Not a white witch, but one who dabbled in the dark arts. And for this reason, she was both revered and deeply feared by his people.

The men carried her luggage upstairs.

His gaze drifted to the English maids standing nearby—Deanna, Katherine, and Johanna. They were young, the eldest being no more than twenty.

“You may choose one of these women as your personal attendant. The other two will work in the kitchens.”

A generous offer—but she hated the idea of rewarding one and forcing the others to work in the kitchen with strangers. She’d choose all three if she could, but if she did, would Randvior withdraw his original offer? Common sense overruled her hesitation, having an English woman as her companion would help. She carefully considered each, remembering how they performed their duties at home. Even-tempered Katherine would serve quite well. She accepted.

“Now that the
lady
has chosen, we can properly prepare the other women for service. Shave their English heads.” Lauga struck again.

Noelle pinched herself. Any hope of building a lasting rapport with this woman was fading—her inconsiderate nature reminded her of Brian’s selfishness.

Deanna and Johanna cowered nearby, covering their heads. Noelle refused to allow anyone to lay a finger on them.

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “English women
don’t
shave their heads, madam,” she said, and shifted into a defensive stance in front of the girls. She would shield them with her own body if necessary.

Randvior intervened. “They serve as freewomen, paid a regular salary.”

She prayed his word was final concerning household arrangements and deliberated whether this was Lauga’s way of retaliating against her only child for frightening her by not sending word of his whereabouts. Thank God, the woman didn’t live at his steading fulltime! Her home was located miles away where she lived with her husband. But she imagined Lauga freely exercised her authority in this house in the absence of a proper mistress.

They said nothing more for a few moments, then Randvior looked at Noelle. “Aud will see you to your room.”

She inclined her head and waited for the captain to signal their departure. She followed him upstairs and down a narrow hallway. They stopped at the last door on the right.

“This is your suite.” He opened the door.

She stepped inside and the door closed. Sunshine brightened the room. She noticed every detail of the comfortable furnishings and feminine tapestries that decorated the walls. Her trunks were on the floor near the bed. Feeling as frolicsome as any child, she couldn’t resist the urge to jump up and down on the new mattress. After nearly smacking her head on the beams above, she allowed herself to fall back into the thick padding.

Liberation at last. No Vikings and no smug-faced mother.