Page 12 of Viking in Love

Geoffrey, he had called himself. “Where is your master?”

“My master? Oh, you mean Caedmon?”

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at the grinning man.

Geoffrey motioned with his head toward a stairway, which presumably led to upper chambers.

Understanding dawned on her of a sudden. “He is still abed?”

“He is.”

“’Tis noon!”

“He must be tired.”

“I’ll give him tired,” Breanne muttered. “What kind of man breeds children like rabbits, then ignores them and his keep? This place is a pigpen. Nay, that is incorrect. Pigs would not live in this cesspit.”

Gerard groaned and Geoffrey’s eyes twinkled with merriment. Then Geoffrey called out to a black-haired giant of a man who was approaching. His hair matched a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. He would have been godly handsome, too, if not for a livid scar that ran from his forehead to his chin, causing his upper lip to be slightly raised on one side. This one was at least fully dressed, in belted tunic and braies. “Wulf, come see who has come to visit. A Norse princess.”

“Actually, there are five Norse princesses,” Gerard corrected him. “The others are outside. Along with a wise man from the eastern lands. Leastways he is spitting out wise sayings. And two Norse soldiers the size of warhorses.”

“That is even more interesting,” Geoffrey proclaimed. To Wulf, he continued, “This particular princess…” he motioned with his head toward her, his eyes dancing with mischief, “…is looking for our master.”

They were speaking to her back by now, as she continued on her way to the stairs, trying her best to ignore them. That was impolite, she knew, but she suspected they were making mock of her princess status.

“Uh, mayhap I should go announce you first,” Gerard offered.

“I will bloody well announce myself.”

Laughter followed in her wake, and she thought she heard someone say, “This ought to be good.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Beware of women with barbed tongues…

Caedmon was splatted out on his stomach, half-awake, knowing he must rise soon. This was a new day and a new start for getting his estate and his family back in order.

In his head he made a list.

First, gather the entire household and establish some authority. Someone had been lax in assigning duties and making sure they were completed. The overworked Gerard, no doubt. And the absent Alys.

Second, take stock of the larder. Huntsmen would go out for fresh meat, fishermen for fish, and he would send someone to Jarrow to purchases spices and various other foodstuffs.

Third, designate Geoff and Wulf to work with the housecarls on fighting skills and rotating guard schedules.

Fourth, replenish the supply of weaponry.

Fifth, persuade the cook to return. The roast boar yestereve had been tough as leather, made palatable only by the tubfuls of feast ale and strong mead they had consumed.

Sixth, the children…ah, what to do about the children? One of the cotters’ wives…or John the Bowman’s widow…could supervise their care, and a monk from the minster in Jorvik might be induced to come and tutor them, although his history with Father Luke did not bode well for his chances.

The door to his bedchamber swung open, interrupting his mental planning. The headboard of his bed was against the same wall as the door, so he merely turned his head to the left and squinted one eye open.

A red-haired woman—dressed in men’s attire…highborn men’s attire, at that—stood glaring at him, hands on hips. She was tall for a woman, and thin as a lance. As for breasts, if she had any, they must be as flat as rounds of manchet bread. “Master Caedmon, I presume?”

“Well, I do not know about the ‘Master’ part. What manner dress is that? Are you man or woman?” He smiled, trying for levity.

She did not return the smile.