marrying,” Kaireen interrupted. “And I am not a child.”
“Gracious Bram has agreed to stay on with us for a fortnight. Then he will marry our Kaireen.”
The applause was deafening.
She jumped off the bench, glaring at the Lochlann’s smiling face. “A fortnight?” she screeched. “Not enough time for me to…he is a foreigner and a Lochlann at that.” Why did they believe it was suitable for her to marry this Viking? She had to have time to figure out how to get rid of him.
“How much time do you need?” her mother asked in a warning tone.
“Never would be too soon,” Kaireen shot back.
“Enough.” Her father slammed his fist on the table. Before the ale spilled, her mother snatched her goblet. Their argument brought whispers through the tables. Her father waved his drink and the ale sloshed on the linen tablecloth. “A fortnight was his idea. I wanted you wed tonight.”
Kaireen opened her mouth to protest, but his glare caused her to clamp it shut.
“Further, you will wed Bram son of Ragnar and be happy about it. Or I will have you whipped until your ungrateful hide is stripped from you.”
Kaireen fell on the bench with a groan. She did not need to look to know the Lochlann was beaming. Curse them all for fools. With her knife she pushed her piece of duck around on the trencher. She would not submit, no matter how much her father yelled.
After they finished the other five courses, her father ordered the musicians brought in. Servants scrambled to remove the tables and benches, making room for the dancers.
The high table remained. At Kaireen’s orders, the servants placed her bench near the back of the high table so she faced away from the dancers. The baroness continued to eat beside her; it was the subject of many jokes she would not finish her supper until the kitchens were empty. Three lute players, and a harpist played the round dance song. Soon, Kaireen tapped her foot to the rhythm. She watched her father and mother, along with many of the other guests, whirl through the hall changing partners within the lines. The foreigner danced among them.
The oldest woman grinned, as though he were her suitor when he took her arm. Rebecca, a year younger than Kaireen, circled around twice in a row with him.
“It matters not to me who he dances with. Maybe he will change his mind and marry her,” she muttered. She smirked, envisioning his astonishment at learning that Rebecca’s dark mane was a wig. Rebecca’s hair, a stringy brown, had been chopped off three years ago.
No one knew exactly why, but ever since her bout of sickness, patches of baldness showed through her hair, which refused to grow again. But Kaireen’s eyes followed him across the floor. He released Rebecca into the women’s line.
After he turned, he waved for Kaireen to join him. She whipped her head back to face the table. Her skin prickled. She bit her lip, suppressing the notion that she had been caught staring. She snatched a piece of duck and ate. The baroness stood and Kaireen held onto the bench to keep from falling to the floor. The music changed twice while Kaireen was brooding, but she determined she would not turn around again. She would wait until the next song, and then retire. Therefore, he would know she was neither afraid nor interested in him.
Across the room, she heard Rebecca’s laughter. She wanted to scream and rip the girl’s wig off, exposing her. However, she remained in her seat, her back rigid.
She congratulated herself on her discipline, when Elva appeared from nowhere at her side. “Must not let the night pass without a dance.” She pulled on Kaireen’s elbow.
“I have no wish to,” Kaireen protested. Her voice fell on deaf ears, for Elva yanked her to stand. Her handmaid pushed her forward.
Kaireen’s slippers slid across the stone floor as she tried to dig in her heels.
“Stop, or I will have you locked in the stocks.” She turned her head to yell at her handmaid.
A male hand
“Gracious Bram has agreed to stay on with us for a fortnight. Then he will marry our Kaireen.”
The applause was deafening.
She jumped off the bench, glaring at the Lochlann’s smiling face. “A fortnight?” she screeched. “Not enough time for me to…he is a foreigner and a Lochlann at that.” Why did they believe it was suitable for her to marry this Viking? She had to have time to figure out how to get rid of him.
“How much time do you need?” her mother asked in a warning tone.
“Never would be too soon,” Kaireen shot back.
“Enough.” Her father slammed his fist on the table. Before the ale spilled, her mother snatched her goblet. Their argument brought whispers through the tables. Her father waved his drink and the ale sloshed on the linen tablecloth. “A fortnight was his idea. I wanted you wed tonight.”
Kaireen opened her mouth to protest, but his glare caused her to clamp it shut.
“Further, you will wed Bram son of Ragnar and be happy about it. Or I will have you whipped until your ungrateful hide is stripped from you.”
Kaireen fell on the bench with a groan. She did not need to look to know the Lochlann was beaming. Curse them all for fools. With her knife she pushed her piece of duck around on the trencher. She would not submit, no matter how much her father yelled.
After they finished the other five courses, her father ordered the musicians brought in. Servants scrambled to remove the tables and benches, making room for the dancers.
The high table remained. At Kaireen’s orders, the servants placed her bench near the back of the high table so she faced away from the dancers. The baroness continued to eat beside her; it was the subject of many jokes she would not finish her supper until the kitchens were empty. Three lute players, and a harpist played the round dance song. Soon, Kaireen tapped her foot to the rhythm. She watched her father and mother, along with many of the other guests, whirl through the hall changing partners within the lines. The foreigner danced among them.
The oldest woman grinned, as though he were her suitor when he took her arm. Rebecca, a year younger than Kaireen, circled around twice in a row with him.
“It matters not to me who he dances with. Maybe he will change his mind and marry her,” she muttered. She smirked, envisioning his astonishment at learning that Rebecca’s dark mane was a wig. Rebecca’s hair, a stringy brown, had been chopped off three years ago.
No one knew exactly why, but ever since her bout of sickness, patches of baldness showed through her hair, which refused to grow again. But Kaireen’s eyes followed him across the floor. He released Rebecca into the women’s line.
After he turned, he waved for Kaireen to join him. She whipped her head back to face the table. Her skin prickled. She bit her lip, suppressing the notion that she had been caught staring. She snatched a piece of duck and ate. The baroness stood and Kaireen held onto the bench to keep from falling to the floor. The music changed twice while Kaireen was brooding, but she determined she would not turn around again. She would wait until the next song, and then retire. Therefore, he would know she was neither afraid nor interested in him.
Across the room, she heard Rebecca’s laughter. She wanted to scream and rip the girl’s wig off, exposing her. However, she remained in her seat, her back rigid.
She congratulated herself on her discipline, when Elva appeared from nowhere at her side. “Must not let the night pass without a dance.” She pulled on Kaireen’s elbow.
“I have no wish to,” Kaireen protested. Her voice fell on deaf ears, for Elva yanked her to stand. Her handmaid pushed her forward.
Kaireen’s slippers slid across the stone floor as she tried to dig in her heels.
“Stop, or I will have you locked in the stocks.” She turned her head to yell at her handmaid.
A male hand
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