Copyright
Note to Readers
Ellan was not a good Saxon. The unfortunate insight was one she had learned to accept long ago. Good Saxons—loyal Saxons—despised the men from the North. They hated the invaders with a fierce passion that left room for nothing else, not kindness, nor compassion, and especially not happiness. That particular emotion was one that she hadn’t experienced for many years. Not since before her mother had left them. But here in Alvey, surrounded by the enemy Danes, she would occasionally get glimpses of the elusive sentiment. There were moments like this very night that would fill her with a feeling of such well-being that she couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with her to find such delight while surrounded by these barbarians.
It must mean that she didn’t hate the Danes at all. Her father would disown her if he knew.
Candlelight painted Alvey’s spacious hall with a warm, golden tone. Flickering ribbons of light caressed the high walls of the space, creating shadows in corners, but warming the tables where groups of warriors—most of them Danes—had gathered to toast their friends who had returned home from a long summer away fighting to the south. More of the men filtered inside to seek sanctuary from the cold night as the mead flowed, their deep voices rising in greeting as they approached friends. A tickle of frigid air sneaked inside each time the door opened, only to be quickly warmed by the heat from the rolling fire and the press of bodies.
Ellan should be afraid of these newcomers. To a man they were the hated Norse and they were returning from battles and pillages against honest, hard-working Saxons. Their Jarl had invaded Alvey nearly two years ago without bloodshed under the guise of marriage to the fortress’s Saxon lady. Since then more of them had come every season until they outnumbered the Saxons. With this last group to arrive before winter set in, Alvey was filled to bursting with them.
A quick look at her sister at her side confirmed that Elswyth—a good Saxon—cast furtive glances at each burst of noise as if expecting one of the men to grab them, her fingers clenching the pitcher of mead she held in a white-knuckled grip.
‘’Tis fine,’ Ellan couldn’t help but whisper to her. ‘They’re too excited to be home to cause trouble tonight.’
Elswyth nodded, but the tension in her shoulders failed to ease.
Lady Gwendolyn had invited Ellan and Elswyth to Alvey at the end of summer to serve her. For the past several months, the fortress had become Ellan’s sanctuary. She liked the excitement in the air. The fortress itself was being enlarged. An upper floor had recently been completed with a whole new wing to be added starting in the spring. A barracks had been built for some of the warriors, with a new one in the plans. Things were happening here, unlike dreary Banford, where everything stayed the same.
She adored how the sounds of merriment invigorated all of Alvey. Thanks to Lady Gwendolyn’s marriage to Lord Vidar, the Dane Jarl, peace had come to their small corner of Northumbria. Saxon men and Dane men sat side by side at the tables, laughing and jesting. Friendships and alliances were being formed.
Father would never believe that such a union could be possible. He wouldn’t want to believe.
