than before.”
Margriet took in a deep breath and let it out before standing. Each time the warrior yelled out her name, the youngest of the nuns began their hysterics again. Lifting her long braid and tossing it back over her shoulder, she strode off toward the main gate and… him. Tugging on the thick brown gown as she walked, she prayed he would relent this time and leave them, and her, in peace. The stubborn set of his jaw in each encounter so far told her otherwise.
Truly, if it had been in a different situation, she might find him appealing. He was certainly fit and the strength in his arms—as he banged hard enough on the wooden gate to nearly shatter it—would provide strong protection to those in his care. His head, though it appeared that his custom had been to shave it of hair, was now covered with a downy layer of pale hair. Instead of marring or softening his appearance, it both gave him a dangerous look and made her palms itch to touch it and test its softness. It was the only thing soft about him for even his deep voice made her heart pound in terror at its fierceness.
Since she was the person he sought, Margriet felt mostly irritation at his behavior and his methods of attempting to gain her compliance. Sister Sigridis dropped away from her side and stood a distance from the gate as she climbed up into the guard’s tower to look over the wall.
“I asked you to stop terrifying the good sisters, sir.”
The words certainly sounded brave to her ears and she waited for his response. Margriet took a small step forward so she could look down at him. The man backed away a few paces, intent on looking up at her. With the nun’s habit on her, she knew he could glimpse only a small part of her face and not much more. The bulky robes covered her from feet to shoulders and the wimple and long veil covered everything else.
“And I asked Lady Margriet to present herself for escort home, Sister. One will surely follow the other,” he called out to her. When he stopped shouting, his voice could be quite pleasant…for a barbarian.
“Lady Margriet has taken vows…of silence…” she answered, thinking it an excellent reason for not talking to him, “and she fears for her soul if she breaks that.”
Guffaws from all the men below filled the air. Apparently the men did not think a woman capable of silence.
“Present the girl now!” He was back to yelling and banging and she feared the gate would give way soon to his strength.
“A short respite, please, sir. Let me see if I can convince her to see you,” Margriet offered.
There was a buzz of conversation below among all the men there and then an answer. “An hour, good sister. You have one hour to convince the girl to speak to me or I will burn this convent to the ground and remove her myself.”
She knew for a certainty the result that would occur because of his threat and her left eye and the brow above it began to twitch in anticipation. Scrunching her eye shut, she gritted her teeth the moment it began.
Loud, hysterical screaming and wailing began in the chapel and spread out as the novices there, as well as a few of the lay women, joined in the horrible chorus. The few men who worked there, tending the fields and doing the heavy labor that women could not, looked at her nervously. They could not defend the convent against this warrior’s attack. Other than a few knives and a bow and quiver of arrows for hunting, they had no weapons but for some farming tools.
Margriet climbed down quickly and waved to Sister Sigridis, who shook her head. The daft girl probably thought she meant to send her out to answer his demands. “Sister, please tell the reverend mother that I will speak to this Rurik and see if I can convince him to leave me here.”
“Are ye certain, lady? He might take ye by force if ye leave the safety of the walls.”
Although Sister Sigridis’s intention was to offer some consolation, Margriet sensed a feeling of relief in the girl at not having to speak to the man. She did not blame the sister for not wanting to do so, but she knew now that only she could work out a compromise and end this siege before it truly started.
“I am, Sister.”
Margriet lifted the habit over her head and pulled the veil and wimple free, immediately sending a rush of cool air around her. Her body did not handle heat well right now and it was a relief to remove it. Tossing her extra garments to one of the servants, she thought on how she could accomplish the task. What would make the man stop his harassment and go away?
Her only communication with her father over these long years had been in writing, so Margriet decided to prepare a missive that this warrior could take with him and deliver instead of taking her.
Entering the convent through the kitchen, she shushed and soothed all those working there. Although not a nun and not officially in charge, Margriet’s strong personality and innate intelligence had made it easy to “guide” the good sisters to her way of doing things here. She found that the management of people was quite enjoyable and satisfying, and knowing she was contributing to their welfare convinced her that her presence and actions were of benefit to the religious community there. With nothing to distract her, Mother Ingrid spent more hours in prayer each day and that was something that made the woman very happy. As it did Margriet.
She opened the door to the reverend mother’s chambers and searched the desk for an unused piece of vellum, or one that could be scraped and used again. Finding one, she sat and composed a letter to her father explaining how she desired to remain with the sisters in the life of a religious contemplation and prayer. Surely, he would not deny her permission to serve the Lord in such a manner?
It took nearly the full hour to complete, scraping the old ink from the vellum, carefully composing and writing her words, but once she finished and sanded the parchment, she knew it would work. Rolling it up with care, Margriet walked outside, garbed herself once more as a sister and looked around for a companion to accompany her outside the walls.
None of the sisters could be trusted to carry out her instructions in this charade, so Margriet went searching for the girl who worked in the laundry, someone who rarely spoke a word to anyone. If the warrior from the North thought Gunnar’s daughter was still a girl, she would present him with a girl— one who did not speak—and she would talk for her. When the girl, Elspeth, shook her head in agreement, Margriet walked to the gate with her in tow. As she waited for Elspeth to don the other habit she’d secured, she could hear the men on the other side. Margriet paused only to gain the promise of a truce.
“Do you swear that you will take no action against Lady Margriet?” she called out to them, to him.
“Sister, you would try the patience of the very saints to whom you pray! Bring the girl out now.”
Elspeth smiled at his words and Margriet suspected that others had said the same thing about her here at the convent. Still, she needed some assurance against their superior strength and weapons. Deciding that a man’s vanity could work against him, she tried a different approach.
“This is a house of God, sir. Surely even a mighty warrior such as yourself would agree to a truce in the name of the Almighty.”
The rude and bitter swearing that reached her even through the thick gates spoke of other interests he had, but Margriet waited in silence now. After a few minutes of fierce whispers and some laughter from the other men out there, the leader relented.
“You have your truce, Sister. Now, bring the girl out!”
His voice roared and she could hear the wailing again, so she
