Little Love Affair (Southern Romance Series, #1) (16 page)

The savory scent of meat cooking brought her attention back to the house. It also brought a rumble to her stomach. She hurried inside and slipped her shoes off by the door. Kenton sat at the table cutting the carrots and peeling a few loose leafs off the sprouts. He tossed them into a black pot every few moments.

"I've had enough of Brussels sprouts. I can't wait to have some peas, or even spinach. The east field is almost ready for seeds. Hopefully by tomorrow afternoon we can start planting." He glanced up and smiled.

"Are you cutting my vegetables as a peace treaty?" Linzi couldn't resist asking.

He shrugged as he tossed the last of the carrots into the pot, splashing some of the water out. "My argument is not with you. I just wish he," Kenton nodded toward the barn, "would allow me to go."

"Father's right. You know he doesn't disagree with your feelings that this land belongs to us. However, rushing out blindly now would only be foolish. The farm needs to be looked after and I need to be fed." Her stomach rumbled again as if to add a voice. She took the pot and turned to put it on the hearth to boil.

"You do need to eat. You're tall and too thin. Even that long red hair of yours looks dull. You're never going to catch the eye of a man if you don't look after yourself."

Linzi swung around, feeling her eyes grow wide. "I think you need to worry about your mate-finding before you start criticizing–" She stopped when she saw the smile on her brother's face and the laughter in his eyes. Seeing an uncut carrot on the counter, she grabbed it and drilled it in his direction. It hit him square in the chest.

"Ow! I take it back." He rubbed his chest, by his heart. "That's going to leave a bruise."

"Good," she laughed.

"Who taught you to have such good aim?" He pushed away from the table and stood. He picked the carrot up and started chewing on it.

"My big brother. I may be thin, but there's muscle hidden under this woman's clothing. Lean and mean." She checked the potatoes and noticed they were done. Grabbing prongs, she set them away from the fire. "Dinner's almost ready. Go wash up and tell Da' that he needs to come in as well." She saw Kenton's mouth tighten into a thin line. "Be nice," she warned, shaking the prongs at him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, the anger leaving his face. He slipped out the back door.

Linzi heard the water from the pump splash into a bucket. She looked out the window and saw her brother's back facing the house. She slipped into her bedroom and pulled the small chest out of the cupboard in the wash stand. Sitting on the edge of her straw bed, she reached in to take out a sterling, ornate vanity mirror. Her father had bought it for her mother a million Christmas' ago. The silver in the mirror had faded in a few spots, but the beveled glass still showed her reflection. She stared at her brown eyes, the small spray of freckles across her petite nose. She had always liked her lips, similar to her mother’s. The full pink never needed rouge or paint on them.

Small benefit, but they made the rest of her face appear pale. The cloudy winter months didn't help to add any color. Hopefully, the next few weeks of planting would help put some color and hide her freckles. She pulled her dark, red hair and angled the mirror to see how dull it really looked. Her brother was right. Maybe later this evening she'd cut a few inches off and give her hair a wash tomorrow after planting. No need to do it tonight as the dirt in the fields would find its way to her face and scalp even with a scarf tied around it.

She did want to look beautiful. She dreamed of catching the eye of a gentleman one day, and hopefully, not too far in the future. She wanted a husband and children. She just didn't know how to find someone she could love like her father had. The boys her age that she knew still seemed young. A few of her brother's friends were nice, but none dared speak much with her, for fear of riling Kenton's infamous temper. Maybe this summer things might change and she'd get a chance to meet someone special.

Low, angry voices and stomping feet coming from the kitchen brought her attention back to the present. She slipped the mirror back into the wooden carved chest and pulled her hair back to tie it into a bun. She ran the few steps down the hall and into the kitchen.

The angry voices turned to weather conversation when she entered. Kenton moved to the window and looked into the early night sky. Linzi rolled her eyes at both of them and went to set plates onto the table. She pushed her brother out of the way as she pulled the meat from the hearth. The mouthwatering smell coming from the beef had the two men sitting quietly at the table in seconds. Tossing potatoes and vegetables onto each plate, she then grabbed the pitcher of ale and set it on the table.

She swatted her brother's hand as she sat down. "We need to bless the food before you make a pig of yourself." She pulled her chair in and said a short prayer of thanks.

They ate in content silence. The hard work from the day and cool evening air seemed to create an enormous appetite in each of them. All the food disappeared into bellies. As Linzi began to clear the table, her father poured each of them a glass of ale. He leaned back in his chair.

"Your friend Darren rode by on horse when I was out in the barn before." Her father looked at Kenton as he spoke.

"What did he want?" Kenton took a long drink from his mug.

"He was heading into town but stopped by to mention that he'd heard that war was breaking out in the south. It seems a large fleet of Vikings is determined to make a stand again."

Linzi's heart fluttered and she spun around to watch her brother. Kenton set his ale down but did not look angry.

"Those beasts are going to massacre the towns down there. Our army is building in the Midlands. They aren't ready to do battle, nor will they be able to reach the south in time." Kenton shook his head, his chestnut brown hair falling forward to cover his eyes.

"Darren said something similar. Looks like their leader, I think his name is Halfman, is hungry for bloodshed."

"Halfman? Ironic that the Vikings would choose a commander by that name."

"Darren said that the man already calls himself the King of England."

"Bah." Linzi couldn't keep her disgust inside. "King of England? Britain has no father. Not from Rome or France or anywhere and this Viking thinks he can step on our land and become our king? Shite!"

Kenton picked up his ale, but Linzi could see him grinning behind his mug. She was tempted to throw hers in his face. That would wipe the silly smirk off. She had every right to voice her opinion in this house. She opened her mouth to let him know her thoughts.

"Hold your tongue, Linzi," her father warned. He too had the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "You're right to think that way, but you're also a lady, and there is no excuse for vulgar language."

"Sorry, Da'."

"Let's just pray the army in the Midlands stops them. Northumbria is a stronghold that the Vikings will want. That is no surprise. The ports and the farmlands are rich for trade and export. I can just imagine what'll happen if they sack the city." Her father picked up his ale and gulped the remaining down.

Linzi and Kenton both sat silent. Images of horror ran through her thoughts and she felt her brother might just be relieved that he hadn't joined the army – yet.

"H
old the line!" Erik hollered to the commanders under him. They shouted the phrase down the rows to their men. Erik heard his words turn into a murmur as it reached the front lines. He stood amidst the bloodbath and carnage. The men did not need to hold the line for their safety, they were annihilating the English. He wanted the men to stay in rank to avoid more death and let the English retreat.

Marcus appeared at his side, still on horse. Erik looked up at his cousin as he sheathed the handle of his axe, but kept his sword in hand. Marcus and his horse were covered in brown and deep red blood. Some had dried from the early start of the battle, the fresh still dripping off his boot and sword. Like Erik, Marcus refused to wear a helmet. His hair lay matted against his skull, his locks fighting against the sweat to curl unruly again. A dried cut and bruise were forming near his right eye.

"There's no need to hold rank. The English are fleeing as fast as the fog that disappeared," Marcus called down.

Erik gave a single nod, sweeping the field with a quick glance. "I know. I don't want my men killing for pleasure. We've taken the land and river. It's the main water supply for the nearby towns. Our, Halfdan's goal, has been attained."

"Let the men get the kill out of their system. They're enjoying themselves."

Erik grabbed the horse reins from Marcus. He knew the horse would be startled from the venom in his voice more than the screams of horror rising from the field. "This is NOT your battle. Hold your tongue, or I'll cut it out for you and place it in your hand."  

Marcus opened his mouth but swiftly closed it. Erik watched him run his tongue over his teeth as he wavered on the alarmed horse. Erik spoke quietly to the animal until its ears no longer flicked back and its hooves stopped dancing.

"I'll tell the men to hold their ground." Marcus pulled the reins from Erik's grasp and hurried off.

Scowling, Erik watched him ride off and glanced at the soldiers around him. None looked directly at him, but they were no longer killing.
Just looting off the dead – theirs and ours
.

Finally sheathing his sword but keeping his hand on its hilt, he walked back through his men. He wanted his horse, who still rested at camp, and needed to report to Halfdan. The tents would now need to be moved forward. He needed to find infantry men and select soldiers to stay back to help while others went off to the towns within the radius they had just attained.

He stepped over several dead Englishmen and said a small prayer for each. These men were not soldiers, but farmers and villagers. These men were unprepared to do battle. They attacked with pitchforks, short swords and other weak weapons. Their archers had been boys, too young to fight, let alone die. He sighed, half of him not wanting to be there and the other half reminding him of his duty and his father's legacy.

The battle – or fight – it seemed more of a fitting word, had been finished in three hours. Oddly, even after the late start, the sun stood in the sky, slowly making its way toward the west. Shortly after the archers stepped forward, the fog had cleared so quickly the enemy had no time to react. The dissipated fog showed the small count of English against their vast army.

It had felt satirical when the sun poked through and cleared the skies of grey. Some of the men had said it was an omen, a sign that this battle was blessed. Erik had kept his opinion quiet, thinking that it was a sign for the Vikings to open their eyes.

No longer walking through bloody mud, his boots made little noise as they stepped across the trampled grass. He reached camp and sent a few men with instructions toward the front lines. He then called the page boy to gather his horse. No one else would approach him unless necessary. They never did after battle. He debated about entering his tent to wash his hands but decided against, knowing Halfdan would turn the action into a snide comment of some sort.

Mounting his mare when the page returned, he kicked her into a full gallop in the direction of Halfdan's tents. The sooner he spoke with him, the sooner he could gather his troops and let them know Halfdan's order regarding the women. He needed to get back to the front lines before many of them left. He didn't want to have to travel into the towns to give personal warning.

Halfdan stood outside his tents, talking to an elder that had once been Erik's father's advisor. The older man gave him a warm smile and clasped both hands on Erik's shoulders once he'd dismounted.

"Well done, Jorgen's son! You look like your father returning, and ‘tis a welcoming sight." The elder's voice came out scratchy but still strong.

"Thank you, my lord." Erik rested his hands on the man's forearms but said no more. The look of disdain on Halfdan's face prevented him from addressing the man by his name or showing the affection he would have preferred to give. He straightened and turned to Halfdan, making a conscious effort to erase all emotion from his face. "The battle was quick and satisfactory. The English were not prepared to fight men of our caliber."

"Yes, I've already heard the reports. Do you have anything else to add?" Halfdan's voice grated with irritation.

"No. You asked me to personally let you know the result." He would have added a few other thoughts but knew better.

“You will address me as Sire,” Halfdan reminded him.

Again, Erik bit a sharp remark back, knowing full well he had authority of Halfdan. It might not be military, however it represented more than that. "I'd like to return to the men to inform them of your orders."

"Orders?" the elder asked, still standing beside Erik.

Halfdan spoke before Erik could open his mouth to respond. "I will not have our men fornicating with the women of this country. Our Viking blood will not be watered down by this inferior race." His chest seemed to expand as he stared at the elder.

"I will have my leave then... if it's alright." Erik turned, not waiting for Halfdan's response or the elder's reaction to Halfdan's words. He swung onto his horse and headed back the way he had come.

It took less time than he wanted to reach the front lines. The battle finished, men cleaned their swords and weapons as the setting sun turned the sky a shade of pink. A few small fires burned in front of the field. Those in charge of clearing the dead worked out in the field behind the men. The English could gather theirs tomorrow in the daylight.

Erik spotted Marcus with another commander, Johan, near a fire, burning the blood off their swords. Their heads came up as Erik approached on horse. Letting his feet hit the soft earth, he reminded the men of the order. He tied his mare up near their horses and headed toward the next fire to speak to his men.

The reactions were as he had expected. The first group grumbled but knew better than to argue with him. The second lot included an enormous, burly Viking wearing a necklace of human ears. Erik spoke Halfdan's order, his hand resting comfortably on his axe.