The harsh tread of boots at the entrance drew her attention. Rurik stood there in borrowed clothing and his own boots, freshly cleaned. She did not know where the tunic had come from, but it was well made and deep green in colour. His trousers seemed to have been made for him, hugging his thighs just enough to display their power. His dark hair was clean and still damp, pulled back from his face, but left to fall to his shoulders. His short beard had been groomed, so that the strong build of his jaw could be seen. It was a fine jaw for a fine face. He appeared every bit a king’s son as he strode into the room with his shoulders back and his eyes, intense pools of blue, focused on his adversaries. Only the mark on the bridge of his nose from her forehead and a slight bruise on his temple indicated that he had recently been a captive.
‘Good evening,’ he said to the room at large as Cedric came to his feet. Wilfrid made a motion to rise, with his manservant Irwin at his back to assist him if needed. Cedric took an almost defensive stance, his shoulders stiff and a hand at his hip where she had no doubt he kept a dagger. Wilfrid was smiling his crooked smile.
‘Welcome,’ Wilfrid said and settled with a soft grunt back into his chair, waving Irwin away.
Rurik inclined his head before looking at her. His eyes were narrowed to barely more than slits and they singed her skin when his gaze fell upon her. Her stomach flipped over itself. He had come to do battle. ‘Good evening, Lady Annis.’
She nodded at him because she could not speak, then watched in dismay as he approached the place that had been set for him at the end of the table. Instead of taking his seat, he grabbed the silver, chalice and platter and walked with them before very deliberately setting them down at the place beside her. A look of unmistakable victory flashed in his eyes as he took his seat.
The man was dangerous and unruly. This had been a terrible idea. A quick glance at Cedric, who was in the process of taking his own seat, confirmed his agreement. His jaw was tense as he stared at Rurik, as if to look away would encourage the Norseman to strike. It was too late now to stop the plan that had been set in motion. The die had been cast. Not for the first time, she wondered if they had gone too far in their attempts to keep Wilfrid placated, but he had been very insistent about meeting Rurik. It was difficult to deny him when he showed so little interest in things these days.
After she settled herself, she waved Leofe over to begin serving. The girl presented a platter of roasted meats and vegetables, while another poured wine for the table. There had been a time when Annis was growing up that the table had often been filled to overflowing. Wilfrid and his wife had liked to have people around. In addition to the main table, others had been brought in and arranged throughout the hall. Sometimes the warriors and their wives would fill them. At other times, visiting lords and their families. The hall had held many banquets and long meals deep into winter nights. After Wilfrid’s wife had died, the frequency had died with her, but the evenings had ceased completely with Wilfrid’s illness. In order to make certain that he was able to keep his place as Lord of Glannoventa, it had been necessary to keep him isolated. Now their meals were passed in polite silence as she and Cedric watched him decline with every season.
Seeing the way Wilfrid’s eyes lit up at Rurik’s company, she could not help but wonder if they had done him a grave disservice by keeping people away from him. Another wrong to add to her list of wrongs. The wine tasted particularly bitter as she swallowed it.
‘Rurik,’ Wilfrid said, his speech marginally better than it had been when he had spoken to Rurik the previous night. It was still garbled a bit from using only one side of his mouth, but it was clearer, betraying his excitement. ‘It is good you have come. Was your journey well?’
Rurik looked at the old man and then at her. After softly repeating the man’s question, she tried to plead with Rurik with her eyes to stay with the story they had invented. ‘Well enough.’ He kept his gaze on her as he spoke. If his journey had been well, his arrival had not, his eyes seemed to say.
Finally glancing back at Wilfrid, Rurik picked up the mutton shank Leofe had served him and took a bite. His strong white teeth bit into the flesh and he made dramatic work of pulling it from the bone. Grease shone on his lips as he chewed. ‘Thank you for your welcome and generosity,’ he said around the bite in his mouth, his eyes sparkling with mischief as they met hers.
He planned to play the heathen Viking. Lord save her. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she took another drink of her wine.
‘We do not often have Danes at our table,’ said Wilfrid.
‘You do not have one tonight, for I am no Dane.’ He gestured with the leg bone and spoke loudly in deference to Wilfrid’s hearing, but his tone was casual, as if he had asked for a second portion. Annis nearly choked. From the corner of her eye, she could see Cedric lower his hand, probably to the blade at his side. She should have known better than to believe Rurik would go along with their plan.
