Guthmann Bloodaxe must know Mercians do not part with gold for corpses either.’
‘Guthmann is an untrustworthy snake,’ the Northman said patiently. ‘He will cheat you and then he will punish you for being arrogant. You don’t want that, Lady... Ansithe.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I have seen what he does to women and the pleasure he takes in his sport.’
There was something in his voice which gave her pause. If Guthmann’s reputation was far from savoury in the North, it was not her concern. ‘Tell me something new.’
‘Guthmann doesn’t expect you to raise the ransom,’ the Northman continued. ‘He seeks to use your failure as an excuse to attack you and gain these lands. You will not recover your father by sending my men to him. You will lose everything when you seek to parley with him.’
Ansithe drew herself up to her full height and met his ice-blue gaze without permitting her own to blink. ‘That is my decision to make, not yours, Northman who speaks my language better than I’d have credited.’
‘Other ways exist, other opportunities to do what you want without endangering all you hold dear. Listen to me. Trust me.’ His voice lowered to a whisper, one which made her think of soft fur piled high and velvet darkness. His gaze lingered on her body. ‘You are not naturally a warrior. Mercian women, particularly women as stunning as you, are not trained in the arts of war. You are used as prizes to be won. I’ve learnt that much in my time on this fair island.’
She ground her teeth. As if flattery could make her change her mind. She knew her defects. No one would ever think her stunning. ‘I’m not most women.’
‘Something we can agree on. I have never encountered a Mercian woman like you before.’
Never encountered a woman like her before.
She knew that damning phrase from her father. Normally said with a curl of his lip after she had done something he found particularly trying. Ansithe concentrated on the rushes and filled her lungs with air, trying to rid herself of the familiar sense of complete inadequacy.
Everything had worked out beautifully. Even Cynehild, who had watched from the shadows, was going to have to admit that Ansithe had accomplished something beyond all imagining and prediction. She was the heroine. Finally, she was the saviour of her family instead of the near destroyer.
The knots in her stomach eased. ‘You have little idea what I am.’
‘Perhaps I should like to learn.’
His gaze raked her form again, but this time she remembered her height, gangly arms and less-than-well-endowed chest. She’d spent years waiting for the luscious curves her sisters and mother enjoyed to appear, but they remained conspicuous by their absence. Then, one day, she’d decided that they should not matter. Curves would not help her scrub floors, keep bees or do any of the myriad other tasks she needed to do after her mother’s death. She would be practical and capable, instead of waiting to be rescued by some handsome kind-hearted warrior.
‘I know what is best for my family, for my people, for these lands,’ she said and concentrated on standing erect. ‘I defended them well today.’
‘Don’t be too proud to consider alternatives—that was one of the first lessons my jaarl taught me,’ the Northman continued in that soft persuasive voice of his. ‘Ways which will be more beneficial to you and these lands are available.’
Ansithe curled her fists and ignored his rich tones. ‘Six Northern warriors must surely equal two Mercians. And I am sure he will take some interest in you. You know his name.’
‘It is possible to know a name and not know the person,’ he continued with a faint smile playing on his lips. ‘What is going to stop him from simply attacking your estates? He will see you are a company of women rather than trained warriors capable of a fight.’
‘I presume you are trained, and yet we defeated you.’
The Northern warlord winced. He slowly looked around the hall, in search of more malleable prey. ‘Do you make the final decision?’
Ansithe kept her gaze away from Cynehild and her disapproving frown. No doubt her younger sister, Elene, also watched the exchange with round eyes from her vantage point. ‘From where I stand, I have earned that right.’
‘Then I will have to try harder to persuade you that you are making a mistake, before you compound your error and lose everything while gaining little.’ Moir’s mouth quirked upwards as if he was anticipating the task of persuading her. ‘I come from the North. I do not bow to the Danish King. Return us to the Northmen. You will get a better price for us if you deal with jaarls from the North than the Danes.’
‘But Guthmann holds my family. All I care about is their freedom.’
The annoying man gave a pointed cough. ‘The jaarl Andvarr comes from the North. Send word to him. Send me.’
Send him? As if he’d return. He would leave his men behind and free himself. He had not led from the front, but had entered after the battle had begun.
Giving in to her anger, she marched up to him and put the point of her arrow against his throat. Although she was tall, she still only reached his nose. ‘What would you have me do? Let you go on the whisper of a promise?’
He did not even flinch, but stared at her with those icy eyes of his, which seemed to peer deep down in her soul and ferret out all her secrets. ‘It would be a start. I give my word to return. I do not abandon my men.’
The man’s insolence took her breath away. He had lost. She’d won. Now he expected her to simply let him and his men walk away as if nothing had happened.
‘Forgive me if I distrust your word.’
‘A pity. My suggestion is the best way out of this impasse.’
‘Stop trying me. If you continue to badger me, I will simply shoot you and stop your mouth that way.’
His amused laugh rang out. ‘There are other ways to stop mouths, Valkyrie. More pleasurable ways for the both of us, particularly if they involve tongues.’
Ansithe stared at him in astonishment. The infuriating man was flirting with her. Flirting when she had just made him a prisoner and threatened to kill him. As if she was some feather-brained woman who would melt after receiving a little masculine praise.
‘Ansithe.’ Cynehild’s voice resounded in the hall. ‘The Northman knows he is our prisoner. Do not undo the good work you have done today by losing your temper and shooting the leader. And, Northman, cease your twisting of words, or else my sister will shoot you. She killed one of your men today. Don’t make it two.’
The Northman glanced between Ansithe and her sister. His mouth became a thin white line. ‘I take your advice, Lady, and will speak no more of it.’
Ansithe reluctantly lowered her bow and collected her wits. As much as she would have liked to despatch the arrogant Northman, she had to keep her mind on the ultimate prize—the safe return of her father and brother-in-law.
She signalled to Owain the Plough to escort the prisoners to the byre and to keep a watch over them. The lad practically grew three inches as he ordered the stable lads and the swineherd about.
‘A
