forced a smile and ignored the sweat dripping down her back. Could Northmen smell fear like wolves could? ‘I have yet to see any reason why I should trust a Northman.’
‘Not just any man, but me.’
‘Ansithe,’ Elene whispered. ‘Maybe he speaks the truth. You never waited to hear what they wanted. You simply fired your arrows.’
‘There, you see, your sister speaks the truth.’
Again, the smile to make silly women melt combined with the intimate note in his voice which caused a warm pulse to go down the back of her spine.
‘The man I shot knocked down the door with an axe and attacked my sister.’
‘And he was punished for it. But I am not that man. I did not break down your door, even though I, too, was starving.’
Ansithe tapped her foot on the ground. ‘I’d sooner trust a hungry bear.’
‘I didn’t lead the raid,’ he said in a voice which barely carried. ‘And I counselled against it. My men now see the wisdom of obeying me and heeding my warnings.’
‘Do you deny you lead this warband?’
‘I lead it now.’ He gave the cowering wretches a hard stare. ‘I will lead it until we all are free. All of us, not just a favoured few.’
A sudden thrill of understanding went through her—Moir had seized power in the aftermath of the raid. And his words were directed at his men as much as at her.
‘It is the present which concerns me, not reliving a past battle.’ She knew that the reliving would happen when she closed her eyes and had to make the same choices again and again.
‘Spoken like a true warrior, Valkyrie. Keep your mind in the present, so the past ceases to haunt you. It is what I try to do.’
Ansithe frowned. The infuriating warrior was far too perceptive. Whatever he wanted, he was not going to get it from her. Instead, he would learn an important lesson, a lesson to last a lifetime—Mercian women were strong and capable, not weak-willed creatures who could be easily fooled into permitting captives to escape.
‘Ansithe,’ Elene murmured. ‘The golden-haired lad, the one younger than me, hasn’t touched any bread. And it looks as though he might have been crying.’
‘Pathetic considering the damage he has caused.’
‘Will you have a look at him? His face is distorted something terrible.’
Ansithe knelt beside the youth. Elene had spoken true. His face was grossly swollen from the bee stings. Angry welts circled his throat like a collar.
Ansithe put her wrist against his forehead. It was far hotter than it should have been, but it seemed to be coming from the stings rather than a more worrying fever.
She wished she could just leave him to his well-deserved agony from the bee stings, but she might need everyone healthy to ensure their value was equal to the ransom demanded for her father and Leofwine.
The youth, boy really, was dressed in fine wool with new leather boots. Everything about him screamed privilege and wealth. Given the state of his clothes, he was bound to command a higher fee. She sighed, rocked back on her heels and reached for the pot of Father Oswald’s special paste.
Ansithe daubed the paste on the angriest of the welts. He winced, but allowed her to do it. She loosened the ropes and removed them from his wrists.
‘That takes the pain away. More,’ he whispered. His mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.
‘Do you make demands here?’
The youth’s cheeks flushed. ‘Hard to talk. Please, pretty lady, heal me.’
Ansithe rolled her eyes. Everyone was obviously primed to make positive remarks about her appearance as if that would make her treat them differently. ‘Then keep your mouth shut and save your breath for living.’
He gave a ghost of a laugh. ‘You sound like Moir.’
She glanced towards where the large North warrior glowered at her and hurriedly back at the lad. ‘I am nothing like him.’
‘Even still.’ He struggled to close his swollen eyelids. ‘Should never have...’
‘I agree with you—you should never have attacked us here. We were at peace. Your leaders are supposedly in talks with my King.’
He gave an indistinct groan which could have been an acceptance of the mistake he’d made.
‘Are you hurting him, Valkyrie?’ Moir asked in an abrupt voice. ‘Can you not resist the temptation to torture us despite your earlier words about honour?’
Ansithe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gritted her teeth. ‘He has many stings to his face and throat. These can sometimes be dangerous if they are not properly seen to. I’ve seen people die from such things.’
‘You want to save his life, so you can throw it away again?’ Moir’s voice curled about her insides, making her thrum. ‘Seems a waste of effort to me. Why not allow him to die with dignity?’
Her hands stilled. His words filled her with a nagging sense of disquiet. The Northman spoke a sort of truth—what precisely was gained in saving his life? Was she condemning him to face something worse? She pushed the thought away. Once she had delivered them to Guthmann and rescued her family, these men were no longer her responsibility, but until then she kept them alive. ‘I gather you want him to live.’
‘With dignity, not as a broken husk begging for death.’
‘Get some cool cloths and more of the paste from Father Oswald,’ Ansithe told Elene who stood wringing her hands and doing less than nothing. ‘I will stay with him until you return. I am in no danger even with their hands unbound. Owain the Plough is looking for an excuse to practise with his bow. At this range, even he would be hard-pressed to miss.’
Elene nodded and scurried out of the room. Ansithe concentrated on examining the youth, rather than considering that she was alone with these fearsome Northmen, particularly Moir who watched her with an intent expression.
She left the youth as she could do no more until Elene returned. The grizzled warrior with the mangled leg appeared in the greatest need. She went over and knelt by his side. The leg was badly torn, but appeared unbroken.
‘Will he live?’ Moir asked, coming to stand close to her and making her aware of the strength he possessed in his bulging arm muscles.
‘The bone remains whole and that is a start.’ She rapidly rinsed the wound to keep the infection out and then packed it with honey-soaked bandages. It would have to do until she could convince Father Oswald to investigate the wound further. He was not an unkind man, just understandably wary. And he did have the reputation of saving many souls in his infirmary.
‘Let me know the worst. Please. He is my friend. We have campaigned together for many years.’
Ansithe rocked back on her heels and looked up at Moir. His face was shadowed with concern. A seriousness had settled about
