William liked the routine of the monastery in Lindisfarne; the order of the days made sense to him. The ‘scritch-scritch-scritch’ of goose feather quill on vellum as he worked was soothing to his soul. The peace and tranquillity permeated every part of his day; hushed voices of monks did little to break the silence. He could hear the bell calling for Vespers from where he was working in the scriptorium. Time to finish the letter he was illuminating and head for chapel. He carefully lay down his small knife and his quill, covered his ink pot, noticing it was getting empty and would have to be refilled before he could do anything else on his page of vellum. The colours would be put on later by the artists: they would add the vibrant and rare paints that brought the book to life. It was to be a gift for one of the Franco kings from the King of Wessex, a kingly gift and so must be perfect.

It had been three years since he’d been sent to live here in the community of brothers, and he had to make up his mind soon as to whether to take his vows or stay a lay brother. He thought back to his own brother’s hall. It had been hard being the youngest and smallest of five. His mother the Lady Anne had kept him close. He often spent the day in her company, helping with her books or simply talking with her.

His brothers all had served: first their father, then when Lord Stephen had died from fever his eldest son, Harold, had taken the Lord’s chair, making William’s life even harder. They were all warrior through and through. William could fight of course: he was skilled, he was a noble, but he preferred to read or to hunt. He saw little fun in hitting other people just for fun.

None of them liked the quite studious William, who learnt his latin and to read and write. He could figure his numbers, and didn’t join in the rough and tumble of their fights. They called him William the Bloody Awful Fighter and teased and bullied him whenever they could. His clothes were all passed down to him, he ate at a lower table, his place wasn’t kept. The only thing that had kept him sane at all was his friendship with Brother Giles, his mother’s confessor, and his mother. The Lady Anne had served Athelflaed the Lady of Mercia before her marriage and she was well read. She had as many as thirty books in her library, and William had loved reading from them, aloud when his mother was unwell. But her illness had passed and there was the problem of William. A lady in her service had caught his eye: she was fair and young, but cruel. Lady Cecily had not wanted anything to do with the youngest son of a minor lord: she had her eyes set higher than him. Her obvious antipathy for the young William had sealed his fate, and he had been sent away to the church. He was fit for nothing else according to his second brother, Liam. He hated Liam with a passion. Liam who had beaten him up regularly, who took all his pleasure from life, Liam who teased him because he had never forced one of the serving girls to pleasure him. William felt it was a sacred act between husband and wife, as it said in The Bible, and not a common indulgence to be pandered to every time a pretty girl caught your eye. His wicked ways were well known and many fathers sent their daughters away if Lord Liam of Wessex was coming to stay.

William re-fastened the belt on his brown robe and slipped his feet more firmly into his shoes. The rough wool itched his skin even though he still had the luxury of a linen undershirt. The whole lot stank as well. He had always been fastidious in his bathing, washing his hands and face every day and his body at least once a year, but sometimes the smell from his more fragrant brothers got a little too much. He would have to ask forgiveness for that during confession.

The wooden building holding the scriptorium was cold and the door stuck on wet days. William pushed hard against it to get it to open. It was raining hard and the evening was dull; it would be dark early tonight, a taste of the long winter to come. His cousin Tara waved to him as she hurried across the open courtyard to the fine stone built church that dominated the Holy Island. It was one of the most beautiful and wealthiest in the area. Many rich nobles made the journey across the treacherous tidal causeway, to say their prayers and leave offering to the church. The Abbot was wealthy and powerful, the buildings filled with gold and silver, the guest house filled with Lords and their ladies on pilgrimage. William kept well out of their way. He had little time for the likes of them, reminding him so much of his brothers.

The fire was lit in the refectory. He could see the smoke curling into the heavy night sky. They had important guests again tonight, it had often been busy over the summer, but most would now leave and leave them all to the solitude of Lindisfarne until the weather was fit for travelling again. He could see Tara was amongst the Ladies as they hurried to the chapel: then there would be a meal, then to service again, then bed, in his cold cell. It was the routine he had become used to in the last three years.

Tara seemed happy chatting to the other ladies. She was here until the last arrangements could be made for her marriage, it ensured that she would be pure, and kept her away from the young bucks at court. Tara had been delighted to find her older cousin William was there. It was a familiar face from home.


Tara had enjoyed her months on the Holy Island. It had taken her three weeks to travel there from her Father’s hall, and she had been scared when she first saw the Causeway flood; but the other women had been friendly to the young Noblewoman, and Tara had loved working in the gardens and at her embroidery. She, like William, loved the ordered life and she was seriously thinking about asking permission to stay as a novice and take her vows. She didn’t think it was likely she would be allowed: her father had great plans for her marriage. Some elderly lord who could secure him a place at court; ‘oh well, the older the husband the younger the widow’, her mother had always said.

They made their way to the Refectory. The bread was already set out on the tables, as were the jugs of ale. Wooden cups and plates lay ready for use and William could smell the stew heading in from the kitchens. In honour of their guests, they had meat in the stew. It was thick and wholesome, and there was enough to stop the hunger. The plates on the high table were filled more generously than those in front of the likes of him, but William hadn’t been hungry since he came here. He waited ‘til one of the monks started reading from the bible and then everyone started in eating. The wooden spoon scraped his teeth but he kept eating. Food was not so plentiful that he was going to leave any.

The bread was thick and black; up on the high table, they had the paler white bread and the uppercrust of the rougher loaves.

After the evening meal they all made their way to their beds. William’s small cell was cold and his cot tiny, but he wrapped himself up in his blanket and fell quickly to sleep. He knew Tara shared a bed with one of the other Ladies who was under the care of the Abbot.

The next day was the same. Day in and day out the routine was maintained. The only day of rest from the Scriptorium was Sunday, and that day he spent all day at prayer.


They were coming from Chapel when the warning bell started. Dark sails had been spotted: Northmen were attacking. There were few warriors or fighters to help protect the women. They were screaming as the first of the enemy were seen pulling up boats onto the beach below the monastery. The full moon had produced an extremely high tide allowing them closer to the safe haven. The abbot was hurrying the nobles into his own rooms and the doors would be barred, in hope that when they arrived the Northmen would steal what they wanted and leave.

William could hear the screams from his hiding place in the refectory, the yells of the wounded, and the cries from a woman. It was obvious from the noise what was happening to her as she was defiled in the main church. The torches were flickering and smoking, making it hard to see anything at all. He had been told to run and hide with some of the ladies when the barbarians had first come onto the sacred ground: he'd hidden them in one of the cells that was less than obvious, begging them to be silent.

He wasn’t a fighter by nature, but he couldn’t just hide in the dark listening to what was happening. He made his way to the heavy oak door and slipped through it. He had to find Tara, he hoped desperately, prayed harder than he ever had that she was safe. Begging God to be kind and protect the young girl he raced through the wooden halls. As he came round the corner he saw Brother Richard, head of novices, bleeding from a wound to his head, laying stretched out on the floor. There was a pool of blood around his tonsured head. William leant over the old monk, he checked to see if the old man was breathing: he was, so William pulled him into the shadow of an alcove, hoping that it would provide some shelter against them being seen. Blood seeped out from the wound; William placed a cloth against the cut and tied it up.

He could hear the sound of a woman screaming: the sound seemed to come from outside. He followed the noise: it was leading down to the beach where the dragon ship had been pulled up. Men with torches were heading down the worn sandy path, the torches sending light gleaming off of their helmets and chain mail; swords showed traces of their bloody business, and he could still hear the screams.

William didn't know what to do for the best. Part of him just wanted to run and hide but his conscience wouldn't let him. He knew that he had to do what he could, even if it was just slowing the Vikings down until the warriors could catch up with them. He tried not to think of what would happen if they got hold of him. The Godless barbarians had little respect for the clothes he wore as the screams from the women earlier had told him.

He tripped and staggered down the pathway that led to the sea, trying not to be seen but trying to see what was happening: what he could see turned his blood cold. He saw three women being dragged towards the boat: one of them was Tara, he would know her anywhere. He had to try and save her. She was his cousin and he had a duty to family, though his fear was telling him to run. William sneaked down the path, keeping low, hurrying as much as he could, his robe tripping him up every other step along the rough pathway.

There were men all around the ship: there must have been twenty five or thirty of them, all armed and dangerous. They looked experienced in the ways of war: they moved like his elder brothers. They were working as a team, practised and experienced in what they were doing. And what they were doing was throwing bags of stuff into the boat, heavy with the spoils from the Great Monastery above them. William could hear the heavy footfalls of warriors behind him, wondering if they were friend or enemy. He tried to make it down to the beach ahead of them. The heavy sound of armed men, flaming torches casting their evil light into the darkness: it was a picture of hell. William used the shadows to hide in, desperate to remain unnoticed. He peered over the rough grasses, trying to see where everyone was. The torches surrounding the ship did little to lift the gloom. He could make out shapes then saw one of the women being lifted onto the ship. She was screaming and kicking: it was Lady Alwyn. She managed to land a heel in a very vulnerable place on the man lifting her, knocking the wind from him, by the way he dropped her onto the sand. Lady Alwyn was running towards him, straight at him. William reached up and pulled her into his hiding place, covering her mouth before she could scream and give away their hiding place. William released her mouth and held up his finger to warn her not to make a noise. He pointed at the back path, the one used by the servants and pushed her towards it. Lady Alwyn nodded and scurried up the pathway, keeping low and out of everyone’s sight.

William looked back to the boat: the feet were very close to him now. He had to make a choice; before his mind could choose, his feet chose for him. He was running down the beach shouting and yelling, hoping to disturb the man holding his cousin. His yells brought their attention onto him. The warriors watched in surprise as a slight, unarmed monk ran at them screaming like a madman. He tripped on his robe again and jumped up and rushed to where Tara was being lifted in and started hitting the man holding her. The man batted him like a fly, pushing him back onto the sand. William shook himself and he climbed up the side of the wooden boat and tried, desperately, to pull Tara out. The warrior was not happy with William's interference a second time. It took just one blow to William's head to knock him unconscious and he fell into the dragon boat, at the feet of his cousin who had been thrown in.

The other woman was unceremoniously dumped on top of him and the raiders were away, the tide floating their huge dragonship off of the beach. One single arrow made it into the boat from all those that the defenders of the Holy Island had released from their bows. One arrow and it hit the man who had been carrying Tara. He swore loudly as it pierced his arm, but his crew mates were in no position to help. They manned the oars and headed for the deep sea where none could catch them. The King of Northumbria would be complaining again about the Viking, but they had made a good haul: three slaves and a pile of gold and silver. The ship master pointed the prow northwards and they headed home.

The first thing that William noticed was the smell: seawater and vomit, not the nicest of combinations. His head felt like it was going to explode, and he wanted to add to the vomit on the cloth in front of him. Cloth that seemed to be covering a woman’s leg. He tried to push himself up a little, to see who he was resting against, but that hurt his head even more. He put a hand up to his skull and felt a bump on the back and a cut over his eye. That’s going to scar he thought and wiped the blood out of his eyes. The boat was rocking gently, he could see very little in the half light of the new day.

Tara whimpered: she had been terrified, William had appeared as though he was dead. Harmony had screamed and screamed until one of the men had hit her hard and knocked her to the bottom of the boat. She’d felt alone and scared beyond belief.

Tara had thought she was scared before but when her cousin started moving, she’d screamed again, thinking him a ghost, one of the undead come back to haunt her.

William pulled himself up a little further and looked at his cousin, she seemed all right, there were no huge bruises or cuts on her face.

‘Tara. Are you safe?’ He asked gently.

Tara nodded slowly. William crept forward, not wanting to disturb any of the crew, they looked scary enough when they were ignoring the little bedraggled group of humanity in the bow. He saw that Tara was shivering and shaking; some of it was cold but a lot of it was fear. William climbed over the ropes that lay in the hull of the boat, between the staves and held open his arms. Tara crept into them, quietly, so as not to disturb anyone else. William pulled his cloak around them both and tried to warm them both up. He was scared too, but too much of a man to show it in front of his cousin.

‘It will be well Tara, we are worth something alive; ransom, it will be paid and we will be free.’

Tara nodded tearfully, her head rested on William’s shoulder and the heat from his body was starting to warm her through her thick robes.

Harmony was coming round slowly, she started screeching again, drawing the attention of one of the warriors to the miserable huddle in the prow of the boat.

The warrior turned. He was young, barely twenty summers old from his face. Around his arm was a rough bandage. It was the same warrior who had thrown Tara in. His eyes watched them as a cat may watch a mouse, hunting all the time.

He stalked across to Harmony, and put his hand across her mouth. She whimpered beneath his touch. He withdrew the hand slowly: when she took a deep breath he replaced it quickly and started squeezing her nose as well. Harmony couldn’t breathe. The look of terror in her eyes said it all.

Tara spoke up. ‘I think he wants you to quieten down Harmony, just don’t scream again.’

Harmony nodded slowly and again the hand was withdrawn.

She slipped across to where William and Tara were and tried to make herself look small.
The three of them kept as quiet as they could and watched the shadows of men go about their business on the boat.

The sun was coming up: they had been at sea all night. With the dawn came enough light to see around the boat they were in. It was a slim, fast vessel, designed to go on lightning raids, a true Viking Ship. The shape of which struck terror into the soul of any self respecting Christian Saxon; it was known they consorted with demons and devils, how else would they be so powerful and able to control the seas? The ship was about 70 foot long and filled with bags, rope and pieces of wood that William didn’t recognise. The sails were of wool and billowed in a most unusual way. Each man sat on a chest, on which were sheepskins. They wore heavy lined cloaks and their tunics were shorter than those William was used to, though their hose seemed to go down to the ankle. They all wore good leather boots and all had a knife at their belts. Some were in mail and some were not; weapons were stowed by each bench, none of which he could reach. At the far end stood the steersman, holding the course straight. He was watching for where the sun rose over the horizon, carefully and as the first glint of the disc appeared he nodded to himself, satisfied that they were on a steady course. Sometime during the night the great sail had been raised and the oars shipped in. It was obvious that some of the crew were taking the opportunity to rest. There must have been about 30 of them in all.

William sat and watched. He wanted to kill them, each and every one of them. All those who had stolen them away from the life they knew and thrust them into hell, but if he were to act now, he, Tara and Harmony would be dead, or worse, in minutes. He could not handle the great ship without help, he didn’t know the magic to make it run before the wind.

The sun had been up about an hour when Tara started squirming uncomfortably.

‘I need to go,’ she whispered to Harmony.

‘Me too,’ answered the blond, nodding her head, ‘but I don’t think there’s anywhere here.’

William tried not to hear them, no gentleman ever knew about that sort of thing, but he could have used the privy as well. The warrior who had been curt with Harmony was looking at them: the girls were really wiggling. Their voices were getting louder;
William tried to calm them down, but Harmony was having none of it.

‘I need to go William, Don’t you hush me, you’ve got no right.’

The warrior came over again. ‘Problem?’ he asked in Latin.

William was astonished. ‘You speak Latin?’

The warrior nodded. ‘Speak a few languages, just thought they wouldn’t speak it,’ he nodded towards the women. ‘Don’t want the annoying one screeching again: hurt my ears.’ William smiled his agreement.

‘They need to go, so do I but we don’t know where, or how.’

‘Go?’

‘Yes, go.’ William was finding the whole conversation embarrassing.

‘Oh! You mean pi..’

‘Yes,’ he cut off the warrior in front of him, ‘yes,’ he said more quietly, ‘go.’

‘I’ll get the bucket, tell the women to use it then empty it over the side and fill it up with water to clean it, and don’t let go of the rope.’

He made his way easily down the ship stepping from bench to bench and fetched a bucket on a rope, and handed it to William. ‘And tell Blondy not to screech, it annoys the boat master and he’s likely to throw her over the side. I’ll get you some food and drink when we all eat.’ He nodded to William and left.

Tara put the bucket under her dress and sank down gratefully. William turned his back and started to hum a little song to cover any noises she may have made; Harmony used it next and then William. He turned his back on the women as he went about his business.
Then he carefully went to the edge of the boat and lowered the bucket over the side, keeping tight hold of the rope. The contents were soon washed away by the North Sea and he hauled the bucket back on board.

It was heading for noon when the man came back with a plate of bread and sausage, along with a couple of apples. There was also a jug of small beer.

‘Share,’ he said and turned. It was Tara who called him back.

‘Why are you being kind to us?’ She asked in Saxon.

‘Business, you’re not worth anything dead, little one.’ he replied in the same language.

‘Oh,’ she sighed, but as she turned her shoulder caught his arm where he had been wounded, and he grimaced.

‘I can help you with that.’ Tara pointed to the wound. ‘I work in the infirmary and I know a little healing.’

The warrior looked her straight in the eye. ‘No funny business; they will kill you if you do anything stupid.’

‘I know, but you’re hurt, and I help heal, that’s what I do.’

The warrior nodded and pointed to himself, ‘Connor.’

‘Tara.’

Tara started to unwrap the dirty bandage. Connor winced and Tara went white, frightened that he would punish her.

‘It’s alright,’ Connor smiled at her, the smile reaching his eyes, ‘we have healers at home. I expect it to hurt, and so do they.’ He pointed at the crew watching them.

Harmony sniffed and made a dive at the food. William took some sausage and bread, it was good but he was watching the play between Tara and their captor closely. He couldn’t defend her if the man tried anything but he would do his best.

Tara looked closely at the wound: she turned the man. It was difficult to see anything.

‘Could you perhaps take your overshirt off?’ She whispered, going bright red.

Connor blushed as well. His trews were one thing, but take his shirt off in front of a woman? He slipped the woollen tunic up and over, leaving his fine linen tunic on. It was thin and Tara could see every well defined muscle. It made her feel strange and she found it difficult to concentrate on her task. The wound looked dirty and as she pushed at it with her hand she felt a bit of the arrow head still in it.

‘We have to get that out,’ she told him.

Connor unsheathed the knife from his belt and handed it to Tara. ‘Be careful’ he said, lost in her eyes, ‘don’t do anything stupid.’

Tara looked at the knife: she was scared, it looked the same as a knife that could kill, and it terrified her.

‘Take it,’ he repeated, ‘you won’t be stupid will you?’

Tara shook her head and cut into the flesh. Her stomach felt as though she was going to be sick. She clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. Cutting a little deeper she could grab the offending piece of iron with her delicate fingers and started to pull gently. Connor was going white: one of the others came over and handed him a bottle of something, from which he took a huge swig. He grimaced and shook his head.

‘It’s to dull the pain,’ he explained when Tara looked at him askance.

Tara nodded. The arrow was out. The good clean blood ran freely. Tara bled the wound for a few minutes then looked around for something to act a bandage. A piece of linen was handed to her respectfully by the same man who had handed Connor the bottle.

‘Done?’ Connor asked.

She nodded, done. Someone called something in a language she didn’t understand.

‘He wants to know who you are.’ Connor translated, ‘and whether we’re selling you or ransoming you.’

‘I’m Tara of Kenbourne. You would get money for my safe return, my father is Lord of Kenbourne.’

‘And them?’

‘Lord William, his brother, is high in the Kingdom of Wessex and Harmony lady of Kendell: there would be ransom for all of us.’ Tara added. Connor nodded and talked again to the men.

The only word she understood was ransom. Tara went back to William, he had saved her food and drink, despite Harmony trying to eat it all. Connor caught her arm. ‘Him,’ he said, pointing at William, ‘what is he to you?’

‘My cousin, our mothers are, were, sisters.’

‘Good.’

The men left William, Tara and Harmony alone for the rest of the day. They sheltered in the lee of the prow, trying to keep out of the way of everyone and everything. Sails, wind, spray, everything seemed out to get them. Tara kept snuggled into his side; William tried to keep them as warm as he could with his thin cloak. Tara was grateful for his kindness, but not Harmony: she was trying to catch the eye of every other man aboard. She was flirting, with Vikings; flirting, the idiot.

Tara couldn’t believe it, the only way they had to stay alive was to cause as little trouble as possible but Harmony was flirting, batting her eyes at every man who looked her way. The looks of contempt told William what the men thought of her behaviour. He’d seen similar looks on his brothers’ faces, normally to the detriment of the woman concerned.

Tara spent her time looking at the sea, watching the changing colours, from grey to green to the deepest blue, the clear sky reflected in the waves, and the sun glinting off the water as though it were covered in gems. It fascinated her, she could taste the salt in the air as the spray became part of the air she was breathing. The birds were flying before them screaming at one another, diving in and out of the water, fighting over the fish they had caught. There seemed to be other, large fish following the boat, playing in and out of the spray they made where they cut through the ocean. The ship seemed to glide effortlessly through the blue, dancing over the waves, becoming a part of the very water they crossed.


She felt a presence by her side and looked round, into the brown eyes of Connor: he was smiling at her.

‘You looked cold, I brought you this.’ He handed her a sheepskin: it was huge, bigger than any she’d seen before, and thicker than the ones she’d had on her own sleeping area.

‘You can sit on it, it will warm you more from under,’ he explained almost shyly. ‘We all use them, and this is my spare. I thought it might be big enough for you and William.’ He purposely didn’t use Harmony’s name.

‘Thank you.’ Tara smiled, taking the sheepskin from him; she put it down on the wood of the hull, stroking its dark thick fleece, it seemed very different from any other fleece she’d ever seen. She pulled it close into the side of the boat and sat back down.

Connor turned to look at the water, ignoring Harmony completely although she was screeching for a fleece of her own.

‘Tell your friend to shut up,’ Connnor’s voice had gone hard, granite hard, he obviously had little time for the annoying blond. ‘If she annoys us much more she won’t make it to shore: we’ll leave her for Ran to deal with,’ he told William.

William hushed at Harmony again, who was still complaining at the favouritism shown Tara.

‘I should get the skin, she’s got more lard on her than I have, I feel the cold more.’ Harmony started running a hand up and down Connor’s arm, totally ignoring the look he gave her. Tara turned away, the hurt showing in her soulful eyes.

William reached up to Harmony. ‘Lady Harmony, I don’t think he likes you touching him.’

She shrugged off William’s hand. ‘Don’t you touch me,’ she hissed at him, ‘you’ll spoil everything!’

Connor shrugged off the offending hand and threw it away from him, hurting Harmony’s shoulder. He then grabbed Harmony’s chin forcefully.

‘Keep acting like a cheap whore and I’ll treat you like one,’ he spat at her. ‘Your kind is only good for one thing and I’m not in the mood, but if you are that desperate I’m sure I can find half a dozen others who are. You want that, hmm?’ His hand roughly shoved her away from him.

Connor turned back to Tara. ‘Lady, would you check my arm again for me?’ He asked gently as if nothing had gone before.

Tara nodded and carefully undid the bandage. The wound was looking better already, the redness seemed to be easing and the wound looked clean.

‘It s-s-s-eems better,’ she said, carefully rebandaging the arm, embarrassed that her stammer had come back to haunt her. It was the bane of her life and always came when she was most nervous.

Connor smiled again at her and thanked her quietly. There seemed, to Tara at least, two different Connors: one was gentle and kind and the other terrified her. Connor looked straight at William and started speaking in Latin. ‘You sure the women can’t understand me?’

‘Tara speaks a little, but if you speak quickly she’s not able to follow us.’ Connor nodded again.

‘Tell the screecher that I’m not joking, if she continues to tempt my men one of them will take her up on her offer, and as she’s not the sort you keep, at least three will have to enjoy themselves with her to prevent her claiming one as father to the child; do you understand me?’

William looked at the warrior in front of them, he was trying to help but William had little experience of women, he didn’t really understand what Connor was saying.

‘I’m not sure,’ was his reply.

‘If she keeps flirting and tempting them, they will have her, willing or no, and they will share her, willing or no, so if she doesn’t stop flirting with everyone on board she will be screaming tonight, is that blunt enough for you?’

William’s face went white. Yes-s-s,’ he stuttered, terrified. How was he going to tell Harmony?

It took a while for William to choose his language. Harmony was shocked, she had honestly thought she was making headway with their captors, but she finally understood the threat.

It was heading for night again when they spotted shore. It was a wooded cove with a clear beach and the ship seemed to be headed straight for it. Tara was terrified they were going to crash: the boatmaster had lined them up directly with the sandy beach and was heading towards it at speed.

The ship made its way right up the beach and onto the sand, all the men falling gracefully to leeboardside (left), the steerboard made safe from the impact by the weight of all the men leaning on the leeboards.

William watched as five or so of the men jumped down and headed further up the beach, roping off the dragonboat. Another, Xander, was heaving an iron pot over the side of the boat. It was the work of a short hour for a fire to be burning on shore, and the sail to have been turned around, lengthways down the ship forming a tented structure.

Connor turned to William as he passed weapons and mail down to the men on the beach.

‘We are stopping here for the night, there is no-one for miles. We know this part of the coast well and you would get nowhere. Your word that you won’t run or I hobble the three of you.’

‘You have my word’ William said and turned to the two women. ‘He says we either give him our word not to run or he hobbles us and keeps us tied up.’

Tara and Harmony looked scared.

‘We won’t run, we promise don’t we Harmony?’

‘I suppose so,’ came the sullen reply, she was still angry at her earlier treatment.

Connor leapt down lightly onto the sand and carried the weaponry towards the fire.
Xander called them down onto the beach. William went to the edge: it was quite a jump down. Tara took a deep breath and steadied herself against his arm. She sat on the top strake of the ship and swung her legs over, ready to jump, when she found herself in the strong arms of Connor, lifting her carefully down and setting her on her feet. He then reached up an arm for William. Harmony was complaining again. William turned and tried to help her down as well, but it wasn’t good enough. One of the men wandered over and reached up for her. Harmony gratefully accepted his help, but screamed when he grabbed at her breast and bottom, groping her on her way to the sand.

Connor released Tara from his arms and growled something in his own language. The other man laughed, but let Harmony go.

The three of them went towards the fire. There was a ring of huge logs and they found Xander had prepared a good thick bean and sausage stew. William was handed a good bowlful, along with a loaf of rough bread that had been warmed by the fire.

‘Share between you and there is honey for the bread when you’re ready,’ Xander told them in broken Saxon.

William nodded his thanks and took the bowl over to where Tara and Harmony were sitting. The stew tasted different from the food they got at home, but it was good and filling. They quickly finished off their share and a jug of clean spring water was offered them.

Xander pointed to the pot. ‘There’s more,’ he said, ‘if you’re still hungry.’

None of the three prisoners were used to second helpings, and here, in the fading light, far north of their usual home, they were fed better than when they sat at their fathers' tables.

The night was peaceful, but the morning was overcast and miserable. The shipmaster, Olaf, took the decision to stay on shore for the day. He and Connor needed time to go through their haul from Lindisfarne and see what they had managed to find. The bags were sorted out in the tent aboard the ship, the thick woollen sails keeping the wet and weather off the people sheltering underneath.

Tara tried to keep out of Harmony’s way. It was surprising that after only a few days at sea, she was being treated better by the men around her than by the woman she was supposed to have so much in common with.

Silver and gold was laid out on the chests, clearly in view of everyone. Connor emptied three big sacks of all the silver and the little gold they had stolen.

William was horrified at the amount that had been taken. There was a King’s Ransom set out before them. The offerings and donations to the monastery. There was even a Bible amongst the haul.

‘That could go on the fire!’ One of the men said. ‘Vellum’s not worth much.’ He went to throw the sheets onto the fire when William stopped him. Connor was surprised that William had made a move against them, he hadn’t seemed the type.

‘It’s worth a lot of money,’ William said quietly.

‘Money?’

‘Yes, I made those and the nobility pay a great deal for them, it would be worth trading.’

‘Thank you: we will keep it and see if we can make money on it.’

The man who had aimed it into the fire grunted and put the Book to one side.

William stroked the book and tried to picture himself back in the scriptorium. He couldn’t. He was shaken from his reverie by the sound of Tara gasping as the last few bits were set out. William tried to stop her as her hand went forward to a tiny gold cross on a fine chain sitting in the middle of the pile of silver and gems. Tara’s eyes were filled with tears: even Harmony stopped talking for a short time as she watched in amazement as Tara reached for that tiny cross and picked it up. One of the crew went to say something but Connor held up his hand to silence him. Tara realised what she’d done and fled to the prow of the ship.

Connor looked at William. ‘What happened?’

‘I really don’t know, I’ve never seen her react like that.’

Connor followed her up to the prow. ‘Tell me.’ It was not a request.

‘That c-cross was my m-mother’s. My father had prom-mised it to me as part of m-my dowry; like all other prom-mises to me it seems he broke t-that one as well.’

There were tears in her eyes as she told him, ‘he promised me so much, there was a man I l-liked, but my father ob-bjected to him, then arranged his m-marriage to my sister. I always tried to be a d-dutiful d-daughter, but he was never happy with me, after my m-mother died he wanted me to fulfil all her duties.’ She looked straight at Connor as she said that. ‘Luckily my m-mother’s father confessor s-suggested that I go to Lindisfarne until my w-wedding w-was arranged.’

Connor looked at Tara, for some reason this gentle healer had touched his heart. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. He turned and made his way back down the ship. He picked up the cross and went back to Tara. He placed the cross into her palm.

‘I will keep your father’s promise: your mother’s cross is yours.’ He kissed her curled fingers and walked away without looking back.

William and the girls were woken by rough voices and sharp words. Connor was shaking William violently, and he’d laid a finger across his own lips in the universal signal for quiet. He was more gentle in raising the girls: William noted with interest that he seemed to allow his hand to stay just a little longer on Tara, but the look on his face as he touched Harmony made him look as though he had stepped in something unmentionable.

‘You keep quiet and your heads down, we have visitors coming in.’ Connor pointed towards the sea. ‘They’ll be heading in on the morning tide,’ he added.

William nodded: even Harmony was keeping silent, she’d had a shock the day before and was still subdued from Connor’s rough treatment of her. Connor, who at that moment was pulling on his mail and belting on his sword, smiled towards Tara.

‘You’ll be safe here but keep your head down.’ He brushed his finger across her cheek and strode off down the boat; his head ducked under the sail which was being pulled up away from the ship, giving the warriors space to move.

Harmony started hissing. ‘And you call me a trollop for flirting, what do you think you’re doing with him? He won’t save you, you know, he’ll ruin you and take pleasure in doing it.’

Tara ignored the bitching, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Xander came up to them and took out his knife: he laid it across Harmony’s throat.

‘One more word,’ he whispered. He really didn’t like the woman, she gave him a bad feeling, trouble onboard. He smiled at Tara, he could quite understand why Connor had been so smitten.

Harmony went pale and nodded slowly. Xander looked her straight in the eyes ensuring she understood his promise, nodded once and then made his way down the length of the boat again.

William sneaked a look under the sail as it was being pulled down and rolled. There was the other ship heading for the shore; there were men watching them, as men from their ship watched the incomers and they were close enough to William for him to be able to see their eyes. They looked fierce, and frightened William to his core. They looked proficient with their weapons and he couldn’t see any warmth in any of them. Fierce, bearded, capable warriors.

Connor suddenly shouted out loud, and started waving and calling to the other ship. The other men on their own ship were obviously relaxing and they were putting away the weapons. Olaf shouted something to Xander, who shouted his agreement and started helping to get the sail back into its usual place. They were leaving today.

The second ship rowed in close to the shore, the tide wasn’t strong enough for them to ride it in the way Olaf had ridden their ship in. Men jumped down just as Connor jumped from his ship and ran towards the newcomers. The thing that surprised William the most was the turn of speed he had in the heavy mail: he must live in the chain. No wonder they were incredible warriors. William and Tara watched in amazement as Connor hugged the stranger and brought him over to the ship.

Bags and chests were being loaded and stowed: there was a lightness in the mood as well.
Connor signalled William and the two girls down onto the sand; Xander was already starting up the cooking fire, putting the large pot of porridge on to cook, unsealing the jar of honey and laying it to one side. One of the men from the other ship joined him and was cutting slices from a piece of salt pork. A stone had been set by the fire to warm, on which the meat would be cooked. Flat bread was being set to cook. It was to be a good day-meal.

Tara and William led the way towards Connor and the group of men he was talking to. Connor hurried over to them and pulled them forward to the newcomers

‘This is my cousin, he's the son of my mother's brother and he's heading home to Dublin, and he's offering to carry a message back to your families. He can get it through to the Saxon settlement at Chester before the winter sets in, and from there they will be passed on to Mercia. These are our guests, we took them from Lindisfarne: William and Tara.’ The newcomer looked at them and gave a slight bow.

‘She’s pretty, can see why you’re talking to her!’ He said to Connor with a smile.
Then added in beautiful Latin: ‘I have a bag with quill and vellum in it, can you write your own note or do you need a scribe?’

‘I can write,’ William answered. He was grateful for the consideration: a message would mean that ransom could be paid.

Eirik called out to one of his men who threw a leather satchel down onto the sand. William opened it and pulled out a scabby quill, a small wooden pot of ink, and a piece of vellum. It was obvious that the vellum had been used before, there were scratch marks where previous words had been removed. William gave the newcomer, Eirik, names and home towns for all of them. Athelflaed still ruled Mercia and she would remember his mother, hopefully at least, and it could mean their freedoms. They would be treated with respect as well, as hostages. William knew that they were worth a lot of money, 2000 threpny each, a small fortune for Connor and his crew. He wet the inkpot with a little water and wrote as carefully as he could. It was not easy sitting on the sand and trying to write, but he managed.

Connor called up to his own ship and a leather bag was thrown down. It was heavy and made a soft thunk as it hit the sand.

Connor had already opened up a bag that Olaf had thrown to him, and he was pulling out small bags of spices and some sort of cloth. Tara thought it looked like silk, she’d seen some once and knew it was worth more than its weight in silver. It was the most wonderful yellow colour: she’d never seen anything so beautiful. Those gifts handed over, Connor hugged the man again, who then made his way to the ship with the gifts.

It wasn’t long before both crews were sitting and eating. Harmony was smiling at the new crew. Connor was beginning to despair. He’d done what he could to keep her safe for Tara’s sake, but if she wanted to be so foolish with a second crew he wasn’t going to stop her. She flirted through the meal, touching first one and then another of the newcomers.

One of the men grabbed her and dragged her off, away from the fire. Harmony giggled at first. William tried to get to his feet to stop what was going to happen but his robe got caught around his sandals and prevented him from rising; by the time he’d got them untangled the giggles had turned to screams. Connor laid a hand on one of his arms, Xander on the other. Their faces said it all: leave the situation alone.

Tara started crying, she was scared, scared for Harmony and scared she’d be next. William let her bury her face in his shoulder. Connor set his features hard. Harmony had been warned and warned, she hadn’t listened, and now she paid for her stupidity.

‘They won’t touch you,’ he said to Tara, but watched with no emotion as another man went to join the first. He held Harmony’s arms down as her dress was pulled up around her waist. Harmony could barely be heard: whimpers and crying were the only sounds. Then a loud scream as she was taken for the first time; there was no gentleness, no preparing her for the invasion. Harmony screamed again and was silenced by a fist to the face. The second man freed himself from his trous and stuck his cock in Harmony’s mouth, making her suck at him. He was obviously enjoying it and made Harmony swallow his spendings. A third man went over and took his place between Harmony’s legs. He plunged into her quickly and soon added to the mix of blood and cum on Harmony’s thighs.

Eirik looked up at the men. ‘You should have asked: she was worth money to my cousin.’

‘We’ll buy her from you! We’ve a long winter and she’ll keep us occupied through it. We’ll soon teach her to keep her mouth shut and her legs open,’ they laughed.

Connor looked at them askance. ‘She was worth 6000 silver pennies!’ he said. Eirik nodded and fetched a bag of silver.

‘This weighs about 7 pounds, a third of her value. We’ll pay the rest next year in furs and silk, but we take her now.’

Connor nodded and shook the hand offered. Harmony was sold.

‘Thanks for that, she was getting to be a problem.’ Connor couldn’t show any emotion. It would be a weakness.

Eirik looked at the tide: it was on the turn. They’d been on the beach for over an hour. It was time to get the ship back in the water.

Connor, Xander and the rest of the crew loaded the last of their stuff back on board. Harmony was crying and sniffling; Tara was trying to help and comfort her. In her heart though she did think Harmony had been foolish: these weren’t silly young striplings to be trifled with at court under the watchful eye of her mother and father, these were full grown warriors. It also hurt Tara to think that Connor would allow it to happen. It would take her some time to come to terms with that.

The Viking cousins were hugging each other again.

‘Give my love to Buffy, and tell her we’ll try and make it up to see her next summer. We’ll bring your furs and silk then,’ said Eirik.

‘I will,’ Connor said, ‘she’d be delighted to see you. She still keeps a good table, and there is always room for one more.’

‘That she does; we'll bring the answer about the other two when we meet in York next spring.’ Eirik shouted up to him and the two crews took their places either side of the ship. William was shown to a spot by the front of the boat and Tara was passed up to the men on board.

Harmony was then bound and pulled back into the group of men staying on the beach. That was when William and Tara realised what was happening to her: she had been raped by and then sold to the men in the second boat. They were to be separated. Tara started crying loudly. Harmony screamed once and was hit again.

Connor hissed at Tara. ‘Quiet or I will be forced to hit you as well.’

William’s heart felt heavy as he took his place in helping to move the boat into the water.
‘Heave’ sounded the same in any language even if you don’t know what it means and they soon had the Dragonship heading back into the water with the new crew helping push the boat off the beach. William was pulled on board by strong arms along with the others, and they were all waving until the beach was well out of sight. Harmony was crying in a heap on the beach.

The ship was pointed to the North and the sail raised. She was headed home.

William was shown to a chest to use as a seat, and given an oar to pull. It was where Connor normally slept and William had assumed it was his oar. Connor’s side was still sore and William was unhurt so it made sense for the uninjured man to share in the work.

Connor hadn’t said a word to either William or to Tara since the incident with Harmony. Tara had cried all night, and had appeared washed out and wan in the morning… Tara had turned her back when Connor had tried to talk to her, unable to face the man that had allowed Harmony to be so badly treated, and then sold her. She was terrified about what the future held for William and herself. They had been treated with respect so far, but that could change so quickly. She had to keep reminding herself how little in common they had with these savages. They were so different, worshiping a pantheon of Gods, but Tara was a just woman, and she knew that Harmony hadn’t actually helped herself. She had tempted supposedly uncivilised men who had resisted time and time again, but she had offered herself to the wrong one and had lost everything. If Tara was completely honest, she knew in her heart of hearts that Connor had tried to keep them all safe, it was not his fault he had failed. If he had tried to stop what had happened, they could all have lost their freedoms.

The men on the ship gave both William and Tara space, but they maybe were just busy on their oars. They had had very little wind, and certainly not enough to belly out their sails, so the men had taken to the oars: every stroke was taking them closer to home.

Everyone’s mind was busy that night as they rocked gently on the waves, the oars carrying them through the night as they worked turn and turn around with just a few brief snatches of rest. No-one slept that well however calm it was: their minds were as busy as their bodies had been during the day. William was terrified about the future; Tara confused at her feelings for Connor.

Connor was excited, he was bringing home a wonderful bounty, treasures and gifts, and he was going to see Willow and Buffy again.

Xander’s thoughts were all on one person, his Anya: he hadn’t seen her for over six months and he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. The others watched him and smiled to themselves. All had family waiting, but everyone knew what Xander and Anya were like. His crewmates started making bets on how long it would be until Anya dragged him off somewhere quiet to have sex, one man betting it would be before they made it into the hall at all.

The sun saw them still at the oars, heading further and further north. Those not rowing were busy tidying the ship up. The ones not pulling on wooden oars were washing their bodies with cold sea water, combing out their hair and starting to trim off the surplus hair from their faces, leaving their beards neat enough for good company. Their knives were that sharp.

Connor offered his knife and a cloth to William and indicated that they expected him to wash and clean up as well. Tara wasn’t sure where to look and hid up in the prow, watching out to sea. Connor came up to her with a bucket of water and a couple of cloths.

‘Sorry its cold,’ he said quietly, ‘but I thought you’d want to clean up as well. We should be in by tonight, and I thought you’d want to look your best before meeting the women of our household.’ He handed a comb over as well. It was a fine antler and bone one carved with an intricate design.

‘Thank you,’ she said with a small smile.

Connor turned away from her. ‘If you stay up here, we’ll raise the sail and stay the other side of it for a while, give you some privacy while you wash.’

Tara had to smile. Connor was always so thoughtful.

It was late afternoon. The day meal had been eaten quickly and beer drunk in near-silence when Olaf and Connor began talking quietly. They hadn’t made such good time as they’d hoped and it would mean coming into their harbour in the dark. It was a choice, try for the Noust tonight or wait until light; each had its advantages and each had its disadvantages. They had to choose carefully.

‘Buffy would have the signal fires ready: if we can make it early enough, she’ll see us coming. I don’t really fancy another night at sea, and the thought of my own hall is rather enticing.’ Connor said. They looked at the shore: they knew this part of the coast well. They were maybe an hour out from the harbour, three from the noust. It depended on whether or not a lookout had been posted. Buffy normally did, but it depended on how busy the farm was.

Olaf looked at the weather. ‘It’s going to be bad tonight, I think we make the run for home.’
Connor nodded his agreement and started to shout instructions to the crew.

It was that long northern dusk later that day when the ship rounded the headland. Xander and Connor stood up on the prow blowing horns, their deep notes sounding across the still water as the rest of the men manned oars, pulling hard. They were almost home.
The cheers went up from the boat when they heard the answering calls from shore. Olaf sounded his great horn again, its long clear note sounding out along the shore.

Tara had slipped down to sit by William, trying to keep out of everybody’s way. They all seemed to know what they were doing, and she and William felt a little lost amongst the hurrying and bustling around the boat. She tried to hide in his side, it was the only place she felt completely safe. Their few days at sea were coming to an end.

The notes from the horns kept sounding out. Tara looked and could see fires being lit: their red glow shone through the gloom. Olaf lined up the boat so he was heading for the fires: they seemed to climb into the sky in a straight line. When they were perfectly lined up he shouted loudly and the men started rowing with all their might. Tara felt the Dragon boat leap forward as if she knew herself that she was nearly home.

Then from out of the dark torches appeared, and the even darker outline of a building. They were heading straight for it, the torches were heading out over the water ahead of them. These people must be witches, Tara thought to herself, then realised the torches were outlining a dock.

Many hands reached down for the ropes to secure her in. People shouted and yelled to each other, anxiously scanning crew and crowd to make sure loved ones were there.

William looked up at the rows of faces looking down at him, straight up into the most amazing pair of smiling green eyes he had ever seen in his life.

Many hands were reaching for the ropes, pulling the boat close in to the jetty, fastening the ropes, voices shouting to friends and loved ones. It was chaos. William and Tara were unnerved by the sheer noise and bustle going on around them. The green eyes that had captivated William scanned on and looked very relieved when they saw Connor. William found himself disappointed that she wasn’t still looking at him and upset for Tara by the warmth in those eyes when she’d seen their captor. Tara was hugging in closer, sheltering under his arm, scared by the sheer number of people that were looking into the boat. None seemed hostile but it was scary nonetheless.

William wasn’t sure where to look: every woman that had come to greet the ship had her hair uncovered!!! It was shameful. He’d never seen any woman’s hair except once: when he was little his mother had been without her cap, but here the hair was woven into intricate knots at the back of the women’s heads, they flaunted their crowning glory for all to see. William looked at Tara: she’d noticed as well, pulling her wimple further down around her head, ensuring every scrap of hair was covered. As a modest maid should. Then he looked again: well they were showing it weren’t they? Green-eyes had wonderful honey gold hair that reached down her back. William wondered what it would feel like, what it would smell like; he’d never felt those feelings before. His body reacted as though they were married and his face grew hot with shame. He turned away from the eyes, but couldn’t help noticing how Green-eyes’ hair shimmered and shone in the torchlight.

Connor jumped up to his feet and climbed out of the ship and onto the wooden jetty, drawing the beautiful woman with green eyes into his arms and swinging her round and kissing her on the forehead. A red-headed woman held onto him tightly and when Connor was free from one he was kissed by the other. Olaf was hugging some woman and so was Xander, there seemed to be woman and children everywhere. In fact every member of the crew seemed to be holding onto someone. They were no longer pirates, Vikings, but fathers, sons, husbands and brothers. William and Tara felt completely overwhelmed by the emotion in the air. They wondered what their reception would be like. It could be that they would be slaves from now on, or treated with respect as visiting nobles. It was in the hands of their captors: they had to keep being friendly to Connor. Legally he could kill them and it wouldn’t be murder. Tara thought back to Harmony and tears filled her eyes again. Would that be her fate, to be handed around the men, one at a time until her body was worn out from pleasuring them and carrying their bastards? Connor had always treated her with respect, he’d even given her privacy to wash, but now they were back at his home his own women would have more of a say in how she was to be treated, she supposed. Mens’ orders weren’t always obeyed: she knew that from living in her Father’s hall. She looked up in terror at the people watching her: the red-head that had been hugging Connor was paying particular interest, but there was no malice in her eyes, just curiosity. Tara managed to smile a little and was rewarded with a radiant smile back.

There was a call from Connor and everyone good-naturedly started handing up chests and bags from the boat to the willing hands waiting. The biggest chest, having been hauled up by three of the men, was put straight onto a set of wheels harnessed to a bullock. A child then started guiding the animal and cart back up the hill, the way lit by torches. Everyone grabbed what they could and the whole lot headed up the torch lined path to the hall.

Connor had taken just a few steps when he turned back: he’d noticed that William and Tara weren’t following and he beckoned to them.

‘This way,’ he said. ‘Up to the Hall.’ He motioned his hand to the looming dark shape of a hall about half a mile in the distance, its dark outline highlighted by the light from the stars and moon.

William followed the crowd of laughing people, holding tight to Tara’s hand. They walked along a well worn but well maintained path, lit by torches placed every fifteen steps or so. The wind cut into their clothes, chilling them to the bone; they didn’t have the thick heavy cloaks the Northfolk used, they’d been taken from inside and they were shivering.

They moved in and out of the shadows caused by the flickering lights; the hall grew larger and larger. The torches were being collected behind them by older children, leaving darkness behind them. The torches were shining as the children ran past them, seemingly flying through the air. The hall was huge when they came to the doorway: it was highly carved with fantastic beasts and brightly painted. They went in through the door to see a hall, wide benches lining the sides, covered with furs and mattresses. There was a fire towards one end, brightly burning with good heavy logs around it. There were cauldrons of iron and stone placed around it heating food: William could smell a good fish stew and fresh warm bread. The aroma was making his stomach rumble. The noise drew Tara’s attention to him and she giggled at the noise. The warmth from the fire was warming them from the night-time walk. Connor was nowhere to be seen so crowded was the hall at that point. The crew started making their way to their own sleeping areas, dropping packs onto the benches, freeing their hands to hold their women folk even closer.

The noise suddenly stopped when Green-eyes clapped her hands loudly.

‘Connor, we welcome you home, all is well here.’

‘Buffy we thank you for our welcome. All was well on our voyage.’

There appeared to be ceremony in those words. William wished he could understand more than one in five of them. Green eyes, Buffy: strange name William thought, then watched as she took a key hanging from the brooch at her breast and unlocked a great chest at the closed end of the hall. Connor took off his sword, axe and knife and laid them in there with care. Buffy then locked the chest and replaced the key on its strap.

Everyone started talking around them again. William and Tara were wondering where they could sit, if they could sit, when they pulled forward by Connor. He laid a thin cord across their hands, as though to bind them. Tara looked terrified, but Connor smiled and winked at her. William prepared to fight to defend them both, though he knew it would be useless, but Connor didn’t tie the cord, just laid it gently on their wrists. It was an honour thing: they were on their honour to behave as though tied, and he was trusting them. He led them across and introduced them to the women; he kept that small half smile on his face the whole time.

‘Buffy, these are Tara and William, they will be staying here until ransom is paid.’ He spoke in the Saxon tongue: Buffy smiled at Tara and looked at William with mischief in her eyes, then she bowed her head in respect, taking note of the cord across their wrists. Tara was relieved: the lady of this great house was a noble at heart.

‘William, Tara this is my mother, Elizabeth of Trondheim.’

Both William and Tara let free breaths they didn’t know they had been holding. His mother? they both thought… She didn’t look more than five and twenty summers old, how could she possibly be Connor’s mother?

‘Step-mother, though I thank you for the compliment,’ Buffy corrected with a smile. ‘You will be cared for here.’ She spoke the Saxon tongue with an accent but was understandable, another relief for Tara. Connor took off the cord, the point had been made: they were honoured prisoners.

‘Thank you my lady,’ William said with a deep bow. Tara curtsied and lowered her head. This lady was powerful, she thought to herself. The red-headed woman came over to join their little group; Buffy turned to her and made the introductions.

‘And this is Willow, our healer, nana if you will.’

Willow smiled at Tara again.
‘Connor tells me you were the one to prevent his wound from being infected. We must sit and talk about your healing methods.’

‘I’m n-n-o h-heal-ler,’ stuttered poor Tara. It wasn’t a seemly job for a woman of her rank and she’d always been embarrassed about her interest in healing It had been one of the things her father had tried to beat out of her.

‘Nonsense, anyone who can get Connor to submit to her ministrations has a power I must learn.’ Connor turned his dark eyes on his tormentor and very slowly put his tongue out at her.

‘Anytime, young man, if you think you’re ready for the lesson!’ she answered, completely unfazed by the sexual innuendo he’d made.

Before the conversation could go any further Buffy made her way to the food and started calling for bowls and plates. Men grabbed table-tops and legs from where they’d been stored around the hall and began setting them up, barely staying ahead of the jugs, plates and bowls being put on them.

Willow passed William and Tara a bowl and a plate each as well as a fine horn spoon to use. Wooden cups were passed to them as well. Connor was first to be served, but it was Buffy who was doing the serving. Tara stared, her father had used servants to serve but here the lady of the hall was serving everyone, including them. Very soon all the folk in the hall had a plate of bread and a bowl full of thick rich stew, either fish or pork, depending on their choice.

Tara was unsure where to sit, but Willow shuffled along the bench and indicated for her to sit down. Willow’s Saxon was excellent and she and Tara were soon chatting away about the food in front of them and how silly men could be. Connor shot them a couple of dark looks, then noticed that William still hadn’t sat, in fact he was making his way down the hall to the floor near the door.

‘William,’ he called, ‘here.’ and shuffled up on his bench to make room for the man. Buffy took her place the other side of Connor.

Two men brought round a bowl for all to wash their hands and faces. William noticed that their hair was shorn and they wore collars to denote their thralled status. William washed his hands as well when the bowl was put in front of him. When all were clean Connor stood and said the Blessing:

‘For Faith, Folk and Family we give thanks.’

Then they all began to eat.

The food was finished; William didn’t think he’d ever felt so full on a normal day. Feast days were different and this rivalled any feast he’d been to, but for a normal meal, this much food, and choices! His mother would love it. Not even the slaves, thralls, went hungry: the Lady Buffy had ensured that their bowls had been filled, and there was more than enough bread to go round. Following the main dishes huge boiled puddings had been placed on the tables and everyone had filled up on them. William tasted the pudding carefully at first: the taste exploded onto his tongue. There was a richness from the suet, but spices and honey as well. Nuts, vine fruits… He hadn’t seen this much luxury in a long time. His father’s table couldn’t afford to spend money on galingale, saffron, cloves or cinnamon, and here they were together in pudding, a pudding that was being served to everyone at the table, those above and below the salt. The jugs being passed round had hot apple ale in them, again spiced and rich; there was beer and small-beer as well. Tara looked like she was really enjoying talking with Willow. William took another mouthful of the pudding. Connor shoved a dish of butter at him and gestured for him to try it. It was again flavoured with spices and some form of alcohol. It tasted very sweet; perhaps it was strong mead. The food was amazing but the one thing he was really enjoying was the horn spoon. He hated the feel of wood in his mouth, and a horn spoon was a real treat.

When the talk quietened and the eating slowed the woman who had been sitting by Xander got up and went to the back of the benches. She picked up a bundle, a baby, and made her way to the middle of the floor. She stood proudly but William noticed she was shaking.

‘Xander,’ she started, ‘I have born a child, a boy: I claim him as yours. Do you accept the claim?’

She was shaking even more as Xander looked dumbstruck and he didn’t say a word: he couldn’t believe it. Olaf dug him in the ribs.

‘Either accept Anya’s claim or not, but say something!’ he laughed.

‘I’m a father?’ Xander yelled.

Anya nodded. ‘You’re a father, if you accept the claim.’

‘I’m a dad!’ he yelled and jumped up and ran round and hugged Anya hard, the baby making noises at being disturbed. Xander pulled back the blanket. ‘My son,’ he said in wonder.

Connor laughed at his friend’s behaviour. ‘You have to accept the child, Xander, you haven’t said yes yet!’

Xander looked deep into the woman’s eyes. ‘I accept the claim: this is my son.’
Everyone started clapping and cheering, waking the child up. Anya was being thoroughly kissed, but she broke free and took the child away from the ecstatic Xander and went back to her bench. She freed the brooch on her gown and slipped the child inside the outer dress; the squalling quickly stopped as the boy began to feed.

‘What would have happened to the child and woman if Xander hadn’t accepted?’ Tara whispered quietly to Willow.

Willow looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’ She asked, choosing a nut from the bowl in front of her.

‘If Xander had refused the claim, what would have happened?’

‘Oh I see: well, nothing. Anya has her own place at this fire her own rank, and she can bring a child to it as much as any man can. If for some reason Xander had refused, or even if Anya had refused to acknowledge Xander, the child would still be welcome.’

‘Why would she not acknowledge the man?’

‘Every woman has that choice, and if she had fun for one night with him, her rank would see the child right. It’s different if you are a thrall: then it would be up to Lady Buffy. If we had too many mouths to feed then the child would be left to die if nobody wanted it. You need a man then to give the child rank and position but for the free women here, our children are ours until we choose a man to accept them: ours is the risk in childbed, ours the duty to see them raised right. It’s not the same for you then?’

‘Well no, if a woman has a child without marriage she and the child would be disgraced, often killed automatically; the child is a bastard, the woman would have no choice but to sell herself, or more likely the child would be taken from her and she would be sent to a Convent in disgrace.’

Willow looked horrified. What sort of society would blame a child for its birth? Would blame the mother for a gift sent from The Gods themselves?

Willow had to ask. ‘What if the child is the result of force being used? Surely the mother would be cared for then?’

Tara shook her head, tears in her eyes, her thoughts on Harmony. ‘No, she would still be blamed.’

‘Dreadful,’ Willow muttered, and wondered what other differences they would find between Saxon and Northman. It was the first time she’d ever had the chance to talk to a Saxon, or even a Christian.

Connor leaned back on his bench; he held his drinking horn out while Buffy filled it again with the hot apple ale. It tasted sweet on his tongue and he savoured the taste; it felt so good to be home. Tara seemed to be enjoying Willow’s company, and William was eating and just people-watching. He didn’t seem as nervous now, which was good as well.

Buffy started signalling to the two thralls, Andrew and Jon, to clear the tables and start on the clearing up. They carried the huge cauldron of water around the tables and everyone washed their own bowl, plate and spoon, William and Tara following what the others did.
As soon as the tables were cleared, they were taken down and stacked and the talking started properly. The talk carried on long into the night, talk that didn’t include either William or Tara. The sooner they learnt to speak Norse the better. Buffy tried to talk with William but he kept getting tongue tied, lost in her green eyes. Buffy smiled and started talking to Connor, but William was grateful they talked in his language: she was trying to include him and he was grateful for her kindness.

The talk was of adventures on the voyage and of minor victories at home. There had been calves born and a good summer of crops, all of which were safely gathered in. Buffy had a glint in her eye though.

‘Tomorrow starts the great slaughter: you came home just in time.’

Connor groaned: part of him had hoped he’d escaped the Bloodmoon duties, but the Gods hadn’t been with him, they’d been on Buffy’s side.

‘We also have to give thanks for you home; we have a goat set aside for the sacrifice,’ Buffy added. ‘We really owe the Gods this year, things have gone well and we must thank them properly.’

That Connor couldn’t argue with that. They had done well, but Buffy seemed uneasy, as though she had something else to say.

‘We have to tell you something else. This summer we had unwanted visitors: we were raided.’

Connor choked on his drink. Raided? But everyone was safe. He waited for Buffy to continue.

‘They demanded we feed them, so we did. Willow poisoned the stew: none of us ate from that bowl. It cost us a pottery cooking pot, we smashed it to ensure no-one else would die from the poisonous Destroying Angel mushrooms, then we burnt the bowls and spoons. When they were very ill from the vomiting we killed them all: it was a quicker death than the mushroom would give them.’

Connor nodded at that.

‘We informed the Thing and it went down as a lawful killing,’ continued Buffy. ‘We put half the spoils aside against Halfdan the Reeve coming for his master’s taxes, but the rest we kept. You have another ship now, and weaponry, and we have silk for next year’s trading.’

William felt ill at this beautiful woman talking so easily about killing off a boatload of men.

‘How many dead?’ Asked Connor.

‘Ten,’ came the reply. ‘They were Jutlandar, and had been harrying the coast up and down the Trondelag for months. The Jarl had sent out boats after them, they took refuge here but demanded that we shelter them: they threatened us all. I wasn’t having that, Connor.’

‘Nor should you. I think I have to agree with my Father, Buffy: you truly are descended from the Valkyrie.’

It was late and Buffy had told their main news to Connor. She rose and suggested, pointedly, that it was time to cover the fire: the children had long taken to their sleeping places. The thralls finished clearing the area around the raised fire, pulling the dirt up and over the hot coals so they would still be alight in the morning. A pot of porridge was put in the ashes to cook slowly overnight.

Tara looked around, wondering where or with whom she was supposed to sleep. Buffy walked over to Willow.

‘Will you have Tara to your sleeping area tonight?’

Willow nodded and led the way to her place on the raised benches: thick blankets and furs were waiting for them. Willow undid the straps on her over dress, it had been fastened with two small broaches, and carefully laid them aside, she then slipped off her overdress and slid under the blankets and signalled for Tara to follow.

Connor showed William a place on the benches a little way from the fire: the more important you were to the family and the Hall the closer to the fire you slept. There were blankets aplenty to keep him warm. In fact he was given more covers than he had at the monastary. A cloak was found for him to use as a pillow and he soon settled down. The feather-bed under him was soft and comfortable, the blankets thick and warm. He soon was slumbering.

Connor took his place in the shut bed in the corner, pulling the sides closed to keep out the noise. Buffy snuggled into her bedding near the fire. She could see the newcomer in the light that was left in the embers. He was young; Goddess was she ever that young? And he was handsome, but shy. Well, they would care for the strangers until they returned home. Good that the girl Tara should share with Willow; that would protect her name for when she returned to her own people. Buffy had dealt with Saxons before and had no love for their ways. She could hear the sounds of people making love: that would be Anya and Xander, or Olaf and Helga. No, it was getting louder: definitely Anya. She smiled and settled down to her own sleep, lulled by the sounds of the hall.

The next day was overcast and cold. Perfect for the slaughter. The pigs had been gathered in from the forest by the pig boy and were in a fenced off area, trying, as always, to break out. They were ready to be sorted out into those for killing and those for keeping.

Buffy had broken fast early with just a small bowl of porridge and honey and was out working before any of the rest of her household were awake. William heard movement but wasn’t sure what he should do or where he should go. Buffy roused the thralls quietly before she left the hall, hushing them with a finger before pointing at the fire, telling them to make the blaze up before breaking their fast and coming out to help her.

The two thralls rubbed their eyes and quickly got out of their blankets and hurried around, getting their jobs done. They helped themselves to bowls of porridge, adding extra milk to the bowls. They noticed William watching them in the gloom and hurried with their eating.

William slipped out from his blankets and drew on the rough over-tunic he had been wearing for months. Even to his nose it was getting a little ripe after five days at sea. One of the thralls handed him a bowl of porridge with honey and rich milk on it. But his more urgent need was for the midden. After some very silly mimes the thrall, Jon, got the idea and led William outside to the pit. It was surrounded by a wattle and daub fence, roofed in thatch and next to the wood pile. Jon pointed to the wood and picked up a load in his arms and headed back to the hall.

William opened the door, to find a clean lavatory with a fine wooden seat, a bucket of clean earth for filling in and a basket of fresh moss to use if necessary. The moss had been carefully sorted, there were no nettles or brambles in it at all. He returned up the path with his arms filled with wood, to find the hall slowly waking up.

Everyone was helping themselves to porridge, making sure children were fed, and sharpening knives. That bit was slightly scary to a man who had spent so many years inside a monastery and away from warriors. Connor pulled on his roughest clothes - he was lucky enough to have more than one set. He knew today was going to be gory.

Buffy reappeared in the hall, hanging up her cloak on a peg by the door. She looked around the hall and started organising everyone.

‘Anya, you take a group and set out the salting boxes, I’m sure Xander will help you move the salt bags; Willow, the hall is yours,’ she said formally. ‘Perhaps Tara could stay with you today? Olaf, you and Helga are in charge of the fire outside, burning off the hair. Jon, Andrew, you are with me sorting the cuts.’

‘Can I help in any way?’ William asked.

‘We’re always grateful for help. Connor will need extra help killing the pigs; I was going to send you with him even if you hadn’t asked. We all work round here.’ She added with a smile.

Connor moved away to where the pigs were being kept. It took two of them to manage to fence one of the monsters into a corner and Connor brought the knife up quick and sure into its throat. The animal was then hauled up by its back legs and the blood collected in a fine wooden bucket. There was plenty of it as well.

Connor had already started on the second pig before the first one had stopped swinging from where it had been pulled up into the tree. The morning continued in the same way. Ten large pigs were quickly slaughtered and bled, then butchered down, each person doing his or her own job efficiently and without discord. Buffy ran here and there, bringing drinks and food at midday: bread and cheese for all. Small beer was brought round regularly.

At the midday break William found himself sitting watching as the last pig’s head was taken away towards the Hall. They would be making brawn with that, he’d been told. Sealed properly it would last months, probably until spring. Tara was getting the cooking lessons, though. He was learning just how heavy and dangerous a maddened pig could be, alive or dead.

He watched Buffy - he was finding himself watching her more and more, her grace was amazing and her smile lit up the entire world. She bustled from one group of workers to another, free and thrall alike, ensuring that everyone had enough to eat and drink. She’d already told them that the night meal would be blood pudding, liver and sausages. The rest of the chitterlings would be eaten over the next few days: more work for the group of people inside the longhouse. The little buildings surrounding it were a hive of industry. No-one was resting, boxes and sacks were being carried here and there and everywhere. Huge boxes filled with joints of pig to be made into bacon and ham were filled with salt, and lifted into the building that had the stream running under it. It was always cold in there. A couple of the cats were wandering around, hoping for scraps, but being chased off by a dog. And still Buffy didn’t stop.

Connor tore at his bread, he was hungry after slaughtering and jointing the pigs. William had helped where he could but it was obvious he’d never done this sort of work before. Back in the monastery, his work had been to dig and hoe and weed, and the plants had never battered him in the shins as the pigs had.

‘Eat up man, we’ve a lot to do before sunset,’ Connor told him, gesturing to the bread and cheese they’d been brought. Then Connor saw where William’s eyes were focused. His step-mother.

‘She’s amazing isn’t she?’ Connor said quietly.

‘Huh?’

‘Buffy, Elizabeth, she’s amazing. You’re not supposed to praise a woman ‘til dead, but that one is worth the praises they sing about her.’

‘Your father is a lucky man.’

‘Was a lucky man. Angel Connor, that was his name: he was Irish and married her when she was fifteen years old.’

‘Was?’

‘Yes, he went the way of the warrior oh, six, no seven years ago now. I had just taken my bench on board my Uncle’s ship, she’d only been married a year, and he was killed in a raid, by your people: died with his sword in his hand.’

‘She’s a widow.’

‘Yes, and Lady of this Hall, before you get any ideas. She held home and hall together for me until I was old enough to step into my Father’s place. At 12 I was a man, so it was her right: she made us a fortune in trade, and the Hall’s praises are sung and spoken about from Bergen to Nidaros. Halfdan the Reeve has asked her to marry him, damn near every man who sees her asks, but she refuses them all.’

‘She’s a widow,’ William smiled at the thought. Though he didn’t know why, she was far above him from what he could understand if the Kings Reeve wanted her, but it meant no man shared her bed and that thought comforted him somehow.

‘She refuses them all? Why?’

She doesn’t want to leave here she says, she doesn’t want to leave me without a mistress for my hall, she’s cared for me since I was a child, and here she holds the keys; but I think it was because my father was a bastard who mistreated everyone who came near him and she doesn’t want to let herself be a victim again.’

William tried to understand what he’d been told: that someone could hurt Lady Elizabeth, but he couldn’t. He looked towards Connor who had settled back against the tree to enjoy a short break in the sun. It would take time to understand that information.

Tara had never felt so tired, she ached all over, but she’d never felt so happy either. She’d been grinding meat, watching puddings boiling, pricking the skins of the blood pudding to stop them bursting, helping to fill the sausage skins. The children had washed out the intestines to be used, helping add salt to mixes and generally not stopped all day - and it was wonderful.

Willow had managed the indoor crew, ensuring all the work was done. On top of that she’d been a patient teacher with Tara, helping her understand what they were doing. They had even managed to get a midday meal out to those working outside. The pace of work had finally slowed for them, but not for Andrew or Jon. They had cleaned every pot that had been used and re-filled them with water, setting it all on the fire to heat. The food they’d cooked during the day was set out on a table: fresh bread was added to the growing pile and freshly stewed fruit and nuts were in a bowl as well. All was set for everyone to help themselves as they came in and Willow and Tara finally sat with a cup of peppermint tea each, to enjoy the weight off their feet.

Night meal was eaten quickly and the room was stripped of its tables…

William watched as a large tub was brought in, in fact it was an enormous tub, big enough for a man. It was placed in the middle of the floor near the fire and filled with steaming water. A small bench was put by the side; soap, real soft soap was placed by it as well as a pile of soft, worn woollen blankets.

Connor and the rest of the men started undressing, slipping off trews and taking their turn at slipping into the water. The dirty clothes were piled up in a corner: Xander managed to get in first, he ducked his head under the water and picked up the soap, gave it a sniff and started complaining.

‘Anya this smells like something my mother would use, have you got anything, I don’t know, more manly?’

Anya laughed at him, and handed over a naked child. ‘That’s for your son,’ she said as she handed him a different cake of soap. ‘This is for you, it’s made with mint, for all you manly men.’

The baby was quickly washed and dunked a couple of times in the hot water, then passed quickly to his mother who wrapped him up in a blanket and got him dry.

Tara was horrified, firstly at the sight of all these naked and semi-naked men, but also at bathing! She’d always been told it was dangerous, and soap, she’d only seen scented soap once before and that had been at court. They had it for clothes of course, but for it to be used on skin meant that this had to be at least three years old. That was valuable.
When she looked across at her cousin he seemed uncomfortable too, it wasn’t just her.

When Connor had stripped off his shirt and trews she hadn’t been sure where to look or what to look at. Connor noticed her discomfort and smiled at her, making her blush even more.

‘Scrub my back?’ He held out a cloth, making Tara run for the other end of the Hall.

‘If you don’t behave Connor, I’ll do it and use the yard brush again!’ Willow shouted. Connor grinned again and held out the cloth, which Willow accepted from him and began soaping him down. It was intense to watch: William felt like running and hiding with Tara.

The men were soon clean, drying themselves off on the old blankets, and getting into fresh clothes.

Connor looked pointedly at William. ‘Your turn,’ he pointed at the water. William had only bathed like this on the day he was born, he’d never undressed completely before but from the way Connor and Xander were looking at him, he would have little choice. William slipped the robe he’d been wearing off and stood in his woollen undershirt.

Buffy laughed. ‘And the rest,’ she said, ‘we won’t look.’

‘I will,’ Anya quipped, making the poor man blush further. Xander growled at her, and Anya went back to the baby still laughing.

William took off his shirt and immersed himself in the water. It was warm and soothed his aching muscles.

Buffy was impressed with those muscles, they were chiselled, in fact he looked like a human version of Heimdal, the Guardian of the Bridge. William felt eyes on him and blushed further, his brothers had always accused him of being skinny and a weakling. Letting Buffy see him undressed and in the bath embarrassed him more than he could believe.

He washed himself with the offered soap and wondered if he could get out. ‘And the hair,’ he was instructed.

It took him only a few minutes more. He was handed a blanket and wrapped it around himself the way the other men had. He looked for his clothes but they were missing: he saw them piled with the other dirties in the corner. Andrew and Jon were filling up another cauldron and setting it by the fire.

Buffy came up to him. ‘They were my husbands,’ she said as she handed him a fine pair of trews, a linen undershirt and one of the most beautiful tunics he’d ever seen. It was edged with the finest tablet weave and coloured a deep, deep blue. It would cost more than his ransom.

William looked into her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

Andrew and Jon took the tub outside, emptied it and brought it back in, refilling it for the women. They were stripping off their overdresses, and they were all laughing. The menfolk made their way to the back of the hall where Tara was hiding. ‘Your turn,’ William said quietly, watching his cousin turn white at the thought of undressing.

The men started getting out games and crafts, keeping themselves busy away from where the women were chatting and stripping.

‘Eyes front William,’ Connor said as the poor man’s eyes were drawn to the far end of the Hall. Tara was making her way slowly there; she pushed aside a blanket that had been put up between the two halves of the Hall.

The laughter and giggling got louder and louder as the women took their turns in the water. Buffy emerged first, her golden hair wet, soaking the front of her linen shift, making William glad that the trews he’d been lent were looser than his normal ones.
She drew on a thick overdress and soon all the women joined them. Andrew and Jon were made to bathe in the water before throwing it away. Then all made their way gratefully to their beds.

William slept well that night.

William looked out at the weather, it was raining and that was putting it politely. The rain hadn’t stopped for days.
The men made themselves useful, helping with the spinning, wool sorting, child care and some cooking and generally trying to stay out of the way. There were animals to see to as well, fodder to collect and milking to be done. Willow was teaching Tara what she could of healing and herb work. Buffy was tending her loom, and overseeing the running of the house.

One of the most amazing things he’d seen had been the week before when Buffy and Andrew had headed off with a cart load of grain. They went to a machine that actually ground the grain for them. William had gone along for the journey out of boredom and as an excuse to be with Buffy.

William had watched in fascination as they had poured sackfuls of grain into a box and opened up a water gate that drove the machinery. Out of the bottom came fully ground flour. As fine as any he had seen before. After ensuring that Andrew could continue on his own Buffy walked home along the frost covered paths. She looked wonderful with the sun shining through her hair: amazing how quickly William had gotten used to women with no head coverings, he didn’t even think about it now. They had talked for the hour it had taken to walk from the community mill to home, about everything and anything, including his mother. Buffy was the first person he’d ever really talked about his mother with.

She’d held his hand over the muddy bits, laughing when he nearly fell into a puddle. It had been a wonderful day. Night was approaching by the time Andrew made it back, and they all helped unload a month’s supply of flour into the storage shed. The one where Buffy gave the cats their milk. They kept the mice away, she’d explained at the time.

‘Are you bored?’ She asked him as he watched the water drop from the eaves.

‘Very: I don’t think I’ve ever had so much free time.’ William answered. He was becoming surer of himself.

‘What did you do with your time before?’

‘I read to my mother, then I worked at the Monastery.’

Buffy made another pass of the warp thread. ‘You miss her?’

‘Very much, she was my friend as well as my mother.’

Buffy tried to change the topic: William was becoming melancholy again.

‘Well: do you fight?’

‘What?’

‘Sword, knife, anything?’

‘Well I was trained as a child; why?’

‘The children need tuition. I was wondering if you’d help the warriors: we normally clear the far end of the hall and let them practise. We will need all the adult help we can get, we all need to keep our skills honed.’

Tara couldn’t believe her eyes when she came back into the Hall with Willow; they’d been to a neighbouring farm to help with the delivery of twins. She’d been the first person to hold the new life and it had thrilled her. She’d held Willow’s hand and it had felt so right. Her heart was more and more confused when Willow had kissed her gently on the cheek in thanks for the effort Tara had put in to helping that day.

Tara came in to find her quiet cousin facing down Buffy, sword in hand, with Connor helping him. There were none of the normal rude remarks that she had been used to hearing when William sparred with his brothers; Connor and Buffy seemed to be encouraging him.

‘You’re leaner and faster than many, so make speed your friend.’ Connor was saying, but Tara’s biggest surprise was Buffy, she was highly skilled at spear-play.

Willow watched for a few seconds then turned to her friend. ‘You don’t have to know how to fight to die, and who do you think trains the young warriors,’ she indicated the children, ‘when our men folk are away? Never underestimate the power held in the woman’s hands: she is the foundation our world is built on.’

Tara nodded and turned to help Willow put away her stuff. They had found places in their new home. Tara allowed her hand to brush Willow’s and smiled at the woman. Willow answered the smile completely. It was a smile that promised more come nightfall.

William watched as the men got out their crafts that night. With dusk falling so early they all stayed close to the hall and used their hands in the evenings. He had tried to spin as all the Northmen did it, but the spindle was removed from his hands before too long as he was making a real mess of it. Buffy had sorted the wool carefully with Anya’s help and they intended to weave up a new set of sails over the winter, if they got the cloth for Olaf’s new tunic off the loom in time.

Two different threads, one from the inner fleece of the sheep, one from the outer, woven together to produce a cloth that bellied in the wind, allowing the Dragonship to really race before even a mild breeze. It was one of the secrets of the ships, the special way the sails were made.

‘I can do one thing.’ William said that night, after he’d gotten in the way of yet another spindle. ‘I can carve, my Grandfather taught me, but I have no knife.’

‘Nor should you have one, you’re not free here, but you can borrow one if you want: I have a small spare in the weapons chest.’ Connor offered. It hurt William for a moment to remember that officially he and Tara were still hostages, but it was true, they shouldn’t be armed. Connor turned. ‘Buffy, please may I get a small knife from the weapons chest?’

Buffy looked up from her tablet weaving. ‘What do you need it for Connor? You have your scram on you.’

‘For William, he can carve and I want to lend him the small knife my father gave me in my eighth summer.’

Buffy nodded and finished twisting the tablets for a final time and took the key from its place on her brooch. Handing it to Connor, she reminded him to give it straight back.

Connor handed over a small knife to William. ‘This is a loan,’ he said carefully before relocking the chest and handing the key back to Buffy.

William took a small piece of bone and started to carve, it had been a long time and he needed the practise. Buffy collected the knife from him as they went to bed, her hand caressing his for a moment. William’s cheeks burnt hotter than the fire at that.



After they took to their bed, Willow leant across and kissed Tara full on the lips. Tara found herself responding in a way she didn’t expect. There had been hand holding, and looks, but it went further now. Willow’s hand snaked around Tara’s waist and
pulled her in close. They deepened the kiss, harder, stronger, as lovers. Tara’s hand made its way up Willow’s thigh and caressed her buttocks; Willow pulled her in closer and then dived under the covers and started kissing down her neck to her breasts. Taking a nipple into her mouth she sucked hard until she could feel Tara react. Tara’s body knew it needed something more and it started rubbing up and down along Willow’s arm. Willow’s fingers went down further and started rubbing on Tara’s most intimate place.
She stroked and rubbed until Tara felt the world explode around her: she screamed into Willow’s mouth. Willow held her close until she came down from her first orgasm.

Connor listened in to his two favourite women pleasuring each other. He lazily stroked his cock, wishing it was buried in one of the two women enjoying each other just the other side of the partition separating his bed from the hall. As Tara came Connor spurted his seed all over his hand and blankets; satisfied, he fell asleep dreaming of the two women.

Tara felt confused, though. She still felt something for Connor, but what Willow did to her body was amazing. Whatever happened though, she knew she never wanted to go home to her father ever again.
After that they grew closer and closer during the day as well, sharing the blankets at night. Connor smiled whenever they looked at him. He needed to talk to Buffy; perhaps there could be a new lady, or two, in his hall before next winter.



Day followed day, week melted into week and soon it would be Solstice, a week of partying for the shortest day. It seemed that the sun had gone from the sky completely, the days were so short.

Tara and Willow got closer and closer, the girl helped where she could and the Nana taught her much about herbs and healing.

The hall was decorated up for midwinter, greenery everywhere, with food fit for a Kings Hall. On the shortest day they partied and feasted until long into the night. Willow and Tara shared a horn of mead, raising smiles amongst the rest of the hall. Sharing a horn meant something to these folk, that much William could understand. He understood more and more of the language spoken in the hall. He didn’t always understand the subtleties of it though.

Buffy seemed very happy this evening. William however was nervous, he had a gift for Buffy and hoped she would accept it.

When the feasting had quietened down and everyone was getting ready for the stories, William made his way over to where Buffy was holding little Alex, Anya’s son, allowing Anya and Xander join in the circle dance that had been started. She looked wonderful with the small baby in her arms, cuddling him quietly to her breast. There was a wistful look on her face, and she seemed to shine with love. William realised that was why she did all she did, through love, love of her people and her hall.

‘Buffy?’

‘William: come, sit down, are you enjoying yourself? You haven’t danced yet.’

‘Maybe later: I h-have a small gift for you.’ He handed over a small, highly carved bone ring. Buffy looked in awe at the fine work, it was lovely; she slipped it onto her finger and it fitted perfectly.

‘Thank you William,’ she said, and leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips, as soft as butterfly wings, and it felt as though an angel had touched him. Before they could get any more intense, Connor started to talk.

‘Gifts for all,’ he said, and signalled to Buffy to open up the chest that had been carried to the centre of the hall.

The chest contained the most amazing silverwork and gems. Connor started calling forward his shipmates one by one. Each man got rings of silver, arm rings and torcs: there was wealth beyond anything William had seen before.

Then, to a man, they swore an oath to serve Connor and his heirs truly.

Buffy smiled up from her seat. ‘And for the ladies,’ she said with a smile.

Tablet braid and jewellery. Silver necklaces, rings and ornaments. For all. There was a length of cloth for Olaf, and for Andrew and Jon there were new clothes each.

She shyly held out a silk headscarf to Tara, and a wimple to match. Such things were worth more than its weight in silver. And for William there was a fine new undertunic of pure bleached linen.

Then the stories started, before anyone could get too emotional.

‘Once, when Odin and Thor took to the world, they decided to see how people were treating one another in the new world that had been made,’ started Willow. ‘They disguised themselves as travellers and went to a house. Knocking at the door they asked for shelter. The woman of the house let them in, but she was not hospitable. She gave them the place furthest from the fire, and no extra blankets at night. Their food was taken from the pot after she had fed her household, in fact she wouldn’t even talk to them more than necessary. After three days they left her house, grateful to be away.

‘They went to a second house and asked for shelter. They were welcomed in and given good meat from the pot, the fire was made high in their honour and they were given good places on the benches, but the wife made it clear she didn’t want them to stay long.

‘They left after three days and went to the third house. There they were welcomed as though they were long lost family. The best place by the fire was theirs, the best blankets given to them for their comfort and they saw the woman killing chickens to make sure she had food enough for her guests. They were given the finest. That night Odin saw all: he saw the woman sitting up through the night to mend a tear in one of the cloaks, tiny stitches and re-weaving of the threads. When she finished she laid the cloak back in its place as though it hadn’t been moved, making no mention of her work. When three days were up, she begged her guests to stay, but when they wouldn’t she sent them on their way with food for their journey. When Thor and Odin returned over the Rainbow Bridge and went into Asgard they talked about what they had found. Odin pronounced from above:

‘The first woman shall be the mother of slaves, for no welcome did we find in her home.
The second shall be the mother of craftsmen: she gave shelter but her heart wasn’t truly in the giving.
‘But the third, the third: she shall be the mother of all kings, for her home made us truly welcome, and so it came to be. All those who rule can trace their lineage to that true woman.’

Everyone clapped and cheered when Willow had finished; Helga picked up a lyre and started playing it. Xander and Olaf started a song which all soon joined in.

William was happier than he thought possible when they all finally went to bed.

The party lasted for days. William lost count after about the seventh day of feasting and partying. It had been wonderful, tales had been told, gifts given and received, songs sung and games played. William danced long into the night, enjoying holding Buffy’s hand during the circle dances, but his favourite memory had to be playing blind man’s bluff.

Anya had suggested the game one evening when things had quietened down. She had grabbed a length of cloth and tied it tightly around Xander’s eyes and run off into the hall giggling. Xander had tried to follow her but everyone got in his way. Eventually he had caught William and guessed whom he had caught, leaving William with the blind.

William had been nervous about being blindfolded for a short time: it reminded him too much of the cruel games his brothers played on him when he was growing up, but had joined in the laughter when he tripped over a dog and then Andrew. Suddenly his arms were filled with a soft warm shape. He ran his hands up to the face and brushed his fingertips over the lips and cheeks.

‘Buffy,’ he whispered, his heart in his throat as he pulled the blindfold off of his eyes and looked into hers. More than anything he wanted to kiss those lips. Her tongue moistened the top lip and he couldn’t help the groan that escaped from him.

‘That was hot!’ Tara whispered to Willow, who nodded and whispered ‘later’ to her lover. The games continued long into the night and they were all tired when they finally took to their beds. William was completely used to the sounds the Hall made at night: the soft murmurings, of little Alex crying gently before being fed, of people making love, of the dogs dreaming of chasing squirrels. It was like a lullaby to him now. But this night there was a different noise. Someone was creeping out of their sleeping area and around the fire.

William looked over: who ever it was wasn’t heading for the piss-pot in the corner. He could see it clearly in the light of the fire, the fire that hadn’t been covered at all during the nights of the winter feast. Buffy was wearing her thin under-robe and he could see the shape of her body beneath it. William wondered where she was going; she seemed to be heading for the door. Buffy pulled aside the heavy tapestry that prevented the draughts from coming into the hall and, grabbing her cloak off of its peg, slipped out into the night.

William pulled on his shoes and trews and had to follow. He knew that Buffy would be safe inside the pale but he was curious as to what she’d seen outside that made her venture out so late at night.

Buffy was sitting on a log, wrapped up in her fur-lined cloak watching the sky. The stars shone like day and the Midhgardhsormr, the serpent, shone like a rope in the sky as the world serpent curled around Midgard and the stars spun around the Nail.

Then William could see what had brought her outside: the sky was alive with green, blue and pink flashes. He’d never seen such colours as they danced and wove all around them. He could even hear them humming.

‘The Dancers,’ she said quietly. ‘I have loved them since I was a child,’ she added.
William started to shiver: he hadn’t thought to bring a cloak. Buffy shuffled up on the log and held out her cloak to William; he sat by her side and she wrapped the thick fur cloak around them both. He lifted up his arm and she leant against his shoulder. And there they sat for the longest time, watching the lights play in the sky.

When it was over they made their way back to the hall, both chilled from the outside: the frost was already forming around them as their feet trod the path. Buffy made her way quietly past the sleeping forms of Andrew and Jon and headed to her place in the beds.
William thought about how wonderful it had felt when she had been in his arms, and found himself wishing there was some way it could have lasted forever. He slipped off his trews and pulled the blankets back around him.

He tried to get comfortable again as the blankets warmed his chilled body. He had turned his back on the hall, content with his thoughts and memories, when he felt the presence of someone by his side. The person was spreading another cover over him and climbing in beside him. He felt cold feet against his and was ready to shout at whoever it was, but when he turned over he came face to face with Buffy, her eyes looking straight into his soul. She reached across a hand and started to trace his cheeks, and down to his mouth.

‘Don’t tease me Buffy please, and please, for God’s sake don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.’

‘I intend to finish everything I start tonight,’ Buffy whispered and kissed him gently on the lips. William deepened the kiss but he didn’t know what else to do, he felt so useless.
His hands didn’t know where to stroke or touch, he had no knowledge of how to give a woman’s body pleasure. He was desperate to quench the fire that was building in him. William could feel his cock growing and hardening; Buffy’s hands crept down his chest and onto his stomach, but he still didn’t know what to do with his.

‘Do you like that?’ Buffy whispered.

‘God yes,’ he managed to stutter, but he knew that he had to stop the madness now, before he disappointed this amazing woman. He pulled back from her slightly.

‘Buffy, I don’t know what to do. I have never been with a woman before and I don’t want to get this wrong.’

Buffy looked at William. His dirty blond curls lay like the wind had played with them: all mussed up. They made her want to run her fingers through them just to feel their softness.

‘Please, Lady, tell me what to do, what you like, I really don’t want to get this wrong,’ he repeated.

Buffy looked at him and smiled. ‘Feel me William, just feel me with your hands, you’ll know when I like it.’

William ran his hands down her shoulders and her arms; finding her hands he raised them to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers, loving the little whimpers and shivers she gave. He dropped the hands again and started feeling the flesh where his hands landed. He followed it up and realised he was touching her thighs. He could feel the flesh, soft and warm and welcoming. He followed the flesh round ‘til he reached the globe of her buttocks. Buffy pulled away for a second and William thought he’d done something wrong, but Buffy was slipping off her under-dress.

‘Some one here has way too many clothes on,’ she smiled. William hurried to strip off his top as well, and lay there naked by her side. She leant forward again and he could feel her breasts against his chest. Her nipples hard with desire. They started kissing more deeply again. William felt his cock harder than he thought was possible: it ached for her touch, her hand, her something…

‘I need more,’ William said breathlessly, ‘but I don’t know what.’

‘I know what you need,’ she answered pulling him on top of her and into the cradle of her womanhood.

His cock was between them, hard and firm. William knew some of the theory about what was to happen but was very unsure, and his thoughts seemed to be melting under Buffy’s kisses.

She took his hand and guided it down to his male hardness and guided it and him to the centre of her womanhood. William could feel the entrance to her; Buffy removed her hand and lifted her hips. William felt himself slipping into her. It was warm and welcoming, it felt like home. He pushed further and further in until he was completely imbedded within her. Buffy put her hands on his hips and guided him back and forward to get the rhythm started. When William had begun to move on his own, she used her hands to explore his body: his chest, his arms, his back. He could feel her nails beginning to dig into his skin as she felt the fever rise in her; she put a hand between them and found her nub and started rubbing it. William followed her hand down and took over rubbing her most private of places. He loved the moans and little noises she was making. He kissed her breast, neck, her mouth until her felt her shiver and shake beneath him. That caused his body to explode into hers, shooting his cum deep into her body. He fell exhausted to her side and pulled her into his arms. She lay with her head on his chest and they were both soon asleep.

William woke with the rest of the household and reached out his hand but Buffy was gone. He was still glowing from the most amazing night of his life, but is mind started to have thoughts that worried him. If Buffy called vengeance on him, accused him of forcing her, he would have no defence. He could not deny what had happened the night before and he couldn’t see Buffy anywhere to judge her mood. He felt scared, he was surrounded by enemies of his people and he had bedded the lady of the hall.

William reached across for his trouse. He started to pull them on when Buffy arrived at his side. She had a cup of warmed beer in her hand and smiled him as she handed it over. There seemed to be no regret in her face. It was all smiles and shy looks. Their hands brushed as he took the cup from her and she smiled even more. His heart leapt at the sight of her. She looked amazing, golden and beautiful. Her gentle blushes as she raised her eyes to his warmed him more than the beer. His heart soared like a bird in the sky, he felt more alive than he had at any time in his life before and his worries melted like frost in the sun.

Willow and Tara looked at each other and smiled at all the soft looks their normally tough and hard working Lady was giving William.

Willow had been woken early by Buffy begging for a draught that prevented pregnancy. She had a brilliant smile on her face and seemed happier than she had for a long time. It hadn’t taken Willow long to mix the herbs and make the appropriate tea; it didn’t prevent conception completely but it definitely had an effect, and that was what Buffy needed. She didn’t need any more complications at the moment. Her feelings towards William were so mixed: as a woman she was strongly attracted to him, his body and his mind, but as a leader she could never forget that he was, technically at least, a prisoner in her home. As Lady of the Hall she had to remember her duty and her place. She just wished Connor would hurry up and find himself a wife, or two, she thought wryly, then she could leave this hall and go home to the lands given to her as her morning gift from her husband. He never believed she would make anything of the land, but in that as everything else he had underestimated his young wife. She had worked closely with her steward, Robin, and they had brought the estate up to scratch and it made a fair and good profit over the years. In fact her tablet weaving and wood from her forests had sold very well. She looked again at her stepson. Time to start dropping hints about his duties.

Connor walked past Buffy and William. He noticed how close they were sitting and smiled quietly to himself. That was one situation he was staying well out of: he had no intention of interfering where he wasn’t wanted. Connor looked at Willow and Tara, now that was a situation he wanted to interfere with. A situation he wanted to manage. He was fascinated by both women, but knew that Tara had to leave them in the autumn when her ransom was paid, and he would do nothing that would dishonour her later, no matter how much he wanted to. So he kept his distance in word and deed, so that she could truly swear nothing had happened when she returned to her blood family.

Willow was another matter: he might just chase there a little more this winter. He looked across at his beloved step-mother again. He’d never seen her so happy, she looked like she was glowing and he was pleased that something had put a smile on her face. He knew how hard she worked, maintaining his hall and lands. She gave her all to her duty and he really should show his appreciation more often. Perhaps he could bring her something really nice next trip, some fine linen from Dubh Llyn or some Lapis from Micklegard.
That would be nice for her. He smiled at his own thoughts. The list of spices that Buffy wrote out for him every trip cost him enough. Pepper was on it this time, and at a good weight of silver for a small bag she was trying to bankrupt him again. But it was wonderful when the Jarl came that they could put so much wealth on the table. Buffy had even managed to get glass drinking vessels for the last feast, as well as wines from France and barrels of nuts from the south of Spain. It had been magnificent.

Connor looked around his Hall, it was one of the richest in the area. Lord Leif of Lade looked upon them with favour, especially as his favourite niece was lady there, and it had done him no disservice in the Jarl’s eyes, caring for her since his father’s death. If he were to put another Lady in her place he would have to ensure Buffy’s comfort and status.

Maybe they should visit her own hall together before the Thing, to see how the Steward was doing and remind him there were menfolk who would protect Buffy’s rights should it be needed. He knew that Buffy kept a close eye on her own affairs and he wouldn’t want to be seen as interfering, but the reminder wouldn’t hurt.

He smiled again at the gentle interplay between William and Buffy. A bit of teasing about where she'd spent the night wouldn’t go amiss later.

He went to get himself another cup of small beer. It was too early for anything stronger. Xander was helping himself to his first cup, Anya was seeing to their child and not him. Xander looked a little cross, unused to the lack of attention. He was also looking at William and Buffy.

‘I’m glad I’ve grown up over the last few years. I had such a crush on her when I was younger,’ he started up the conversation, ‘and I would have been so jealous.’

‘You and half the male population of every hall within five days’ ride,’ laughed Connor, ‘but he’s so gentle a man that he is the antithesis of my father, and I think that might be part of the attraction. He adores her, you can see it in his eyes, he has truly been kissed by Freya, and I’m not going to speak against that sort of destiny.’

‘Me neither, a love like that can be a blessing and a curse. I hope she copes when he returns to his own kind,’ replied his friend as he headed back to his own wife and child.

William and Buffy talked quietly with one another, everyone giving their beloved lady all the time she needed.

The days of winter sped past, and the nights started to get shorter. The beat of the Hall stayed the same. William and Buffy spent much of the time together, talking, giggling, working side by side.

William spent his days getting better and better at fighting; with the skilled help of the men in the Hall, he was learning sword play and wrestling amongst other things. They played Hnaefetafl and Fox and Geese, sang songs, spoke poetry. That had been a surprise: whereas in his father’s hall his efforts at poetry had made him the butt of his brothers’ jokes, here he was listened to and respected because he could make up poetry. In fact they asked for him to speak in the evenings.

And his nights, his nights were spent in Buffy’s arms. They had spent the first month creeping around thinking their relationship a secret, but having been caught in the hayloft on more than one occasion and awoken later than the hall after a particularly active night they had accepted the laughter and jokes and William had taken to Buffy’s bed.

Connor had spoken quietly to William one day when they had been sent out to chase up the charcoal burner who was late with his delivery. Buffy preferred charcoal for the bread oven and the supplies were getting low.

Connor wasn't sure how to broach the subject. Ways were so different between Saxon and Northman, but he was Buffy's nearest male relative.

‘Are you promised to anyone at home?’ he started the conversation off.

William wasn't concentrating, he was having a hard time riding in the different saddle and the horses were faster and moved differently to the ones he was used to. They went at a fifth speed, a fast run. ‘Pardon?’

‘Are you promised at home, or are you free?’

‘I'm free, but why do you ask?’

‘I just want to make sure you're not going to hurt her.’

‘I have to go home, whatever we have is special and I'll not discuss it with you. But I cherish the Lady and I will always treasure her memory. I'll not hurt her deliberately if that's what you’re asking.’

‘It was, I wish you could stay but honour demands...’

‘Honour demands,’ replied William but he was happy that his closeness to Buffy was accepted by her family. He knew he would always love her, but their worlds were so different and so far apart. He’d even gotten used to bathing every week. He was beginning to love the feel of clean clothes and skin. He certainly loved the smell of Buffy when she was fresh out of the bath.

Part of his soul and all of his heart wished he could stay forever; the only thing he truly missed was his mother. But he knew that when his ransom was paid he would have to return to his own world. Honour demanded it. He would go back to Wessex and his brother’s Hall, he knew that he could never cope with the life in the monastery again. He would return home in the autumn, home to a family and a lifestyle that seemed more and more alien and unwelcome to him.

And he promised himself he would do all he could to ensure that Tara was cared for. She had blossomed so much since coming here. Strange to think that being kidnapped had done both them so much good and made them both so happy.

Buffy looked out at the darkening night. The weather was doing as it always did in Snow-moon: as the name suggested the ground was thick with a blanket of heavy snow. The end of the month had been as cold and snowy as the beginning and they were beginning to feel cramped in the hall.

If it was clear tomorrow they could all go skating and skiing, have a day outside playing. The hall would all benefit from just a day playing. It would lighten everyone’s mood. They could build a snowman, snowball fights could be fun and they could come back into spiced ale, and hot cakes.

She was preparing to go inside, to pull close the doors and bar them against the night when she noticed movement on the path outside the pale. Looking closely she wondered if some hungry wolf or boar was chancing itself close to the hall. The high wooden fence, with its platform allowing the occupants to see over, was made of thick, heavy logs. They were buried deep in the soil and secure against any that would think to attack.

‘Connor, Xander: we have visitors.’ she called quietly as she picked up a spear, preparing to defend her hall.

Xander and Connor dropped their bowls from where they had been lining up to get their stew and reached for the weapons, axe and spear, that they could reach. It was not something that Buffy would joke about. They came out into the darkness, thankful for the bright moon shining in the sky, lighting up the snow as though it were day. Buffy passed the key to the weapons chest to Anya who had approached the door. The woman nodded at her lady and went back and opened up the chest handing, Connor his sword as the others took their own short arms.

William could sense the change in atmosphere, and this was no time of day or season of year for visitors. He was surprised when Connor handed him a spear and scram.

‘We all defend the hall.’ William was touched that they would trust him to help. They had very different ways, there was no way that a Northman in a Saxon Hall would be trusted with a weapon.

‘Buffy!’ came a woman’s voice from out of the dark. ‘Hello the hall,’ it called again as Buffy shouted, ‘Faith!’ and ran towards the great gates. She was struggling to lift the bar blocking the way and to open the huge gates that protected their compound; William, Connor, Xander and Olaf followed. The men pulled the gates, allowing them to swing open to reveal a most unexpected site. In a sleigh pulled by a horse was a woman and a couple of children. The children were wrapped in furs and blankets. The woman was dark haired, but even in the light of the torches that followed them William could see not only that she was a beauty but she was bruised and battered. Her lip was cut and one eye was barely open.

‘Faith,’ Buffy whispered as she hurried through the gate to the woman. Her arms went around but the woman whimpered and cried out in pain.

‘There was nowhere else I could get to,’ she said into Buffy’s hair. One of the children woke, afraid at her mother’s cries.

‘Hush baby,’ Faith muttered, trying to sooth the little one. ‘Can we have shelter here please?’ she asked, looking towards both Connor and Buffy.

‘There is always room in my hall for the Aunt of my heart.’

‘I beg protection for me and my children.’

‘My sword arm is yours. You have the protection of my hall.’
The woman nodded and toppled out of the sleigh into Xander’s arms. Connor grabbed the reins of the horse and led them towards the door of the hall. There they unloaded the children and woman into the warmth, Buffy calling for Jon to take the horse to the shed where the animals stayed over winter.

They carried the two scared, crying children into the main house, followed by their mother. William could see the bruises on the little girl’s face that matched her mother’s; the boy look scared of everybody. He flinched as Olaf reached for him. Willow and Tara looked at each other. Tara went up to the little boy.

‘Hello, I’m Tara, what’s your name?’

‘Earic,’ the whispered reply came.

‘And your sister? What’s her name?’

‘Inga: she’s hurt again. She was crying and mama said we had to leave. Will mama be all right?’

‘Yes, I’m sure she will be. Willow’s a very good healer, she’ll see what’s wrong and fix it.’

Tara started to take off the heavy clothes the children were wrapped in, carefully since it seemed that there were bruises on the children as well. They seemed fresh, unlike some of the marks on the woman. They varied in age between well healed and newly made.

Willow called Tara over quietly, not wanting to disturb the children, who were tucking into some food prepared for them by Helga. Tara was amazed how quickly the hall dealt with any problem that came to its doors, a sign of a well run and well disciplined home.

‘Tell Buffy I’m going to need a couple of stout sticks and a couple of strong men as well. She has a broken arm, and broken ribs. I don’t think they have pierced her lung, but we are going to need to keep her still and quiet. Tell Connor as well that we really could do with his bed, it will be the best place for her.’

‘She can have it,’ he called, having overheard that part of the conversation.

William tried to hand back the scram and spear, but Connor shook his head.

‘We need to stay armed tonight until we know what happened. It wouldn’t do to be caught unaware.’ William nodded and put the weaponry close at hand, as did the other men in the hall.

Helga and Anya seemed to be doing well with the two children. William thought they looked pale and hungry. They were eating everything and anything that was put in front of them, shoving food into their mouths as though they hadn’t seen food in a while.
Helga gave them a big cup of milk each; she had been warming it by the fire. The children, now well fed and warm, soon started to fall asleep. The poor little mites looked like they hadn’t even seen five summers each yet. William wondered what on earth could have happened to force a mother and two young children out into the snow. For his people a woman wouldn’t be allowed to leave her home. She belonged to it. Few owned their own property and none controlled it. William assumed that she was either thrown out or the place had been over-run and she had escaped.

Willow looked at the break in the arm of the raven-haired beauty in front of her. It was swollen and inflamed. The arm had been broken for at least three days. How Faith had managed to handle the horse and sleigh she had no idea, but there again Frigga would give a mother strength when she needed it.

Willow started to mix up herbs to help with the pain. Hemp for later, but while she set the arm she would dose Faith up with a huge dose of poppy juice. That would knock her out for at least a quarter of a day, giving Willow more than enough time to set the arm, bandage the ribs and see to any other injuries.

She looked around her supplies. Olaf and Xander had set up a table for her use and Buffy was building the fire up so it roared high and bright. Birch wood burnt fast, pine caught quickly and the flames shot up. When Buffy had the fire blazing she ordered Andrew to light a dozen tallow candles and twice that many rush lights. There were three of the good beeswax candles ready for Willow if she should need them.

Willow and Tara managed to get the poor woman sat up enough to drink the poppy juice down and they allowed her to settle with it, using the time to start undressing her. The light from the candles showed bruises and marks all over her body. There was a particularly nasty foot-shaped one over her ribs and it was clear that the ribs underneath were broken. Willow wrapped strong linen around the breaks to support them, and doctored the bruises with burdock. Dragon-wort and knit-bone were prepared for her arm.

Willow signalled to Connor and Xander who held poor Faith steady as Willow pulled on the broken arm to ensure that the bones were straight. She heard and felt the awful grinding noise as the bone went back into place. The arm was quickly wrapped in wool and supported by the straight sticks that had been prepared. The bandages had been soaked in madder as it seemed to aid the healing, the red colour of the herb pulling out the infection.

Good clean honey dressings went on the cuts and they slipped her into Connor’s shut bed, leaving the side open so as to be able to tend her. Her arms were supported on cushions and she slept on through everything, the poppy juice having done its job well.

The hall settled down well out of the healer’s way. The children had been put to their bed and were sleeping well, holding onto one another. Baby Alec was with them, making it easier for Anya to see to them in the night if it should be needed.

William sat quietly, away from the scenes of activity. He would help if he could but he felt useless. He had no idea what to do. Tara at least seemed to be able to help. He would help if he could in the morning. William slipped into his own bed, not wanting to pressure Buffy, but was beyond contented when he felt her slide in beside him later. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her fall asleep before she even had time to kiss him. It felt more like home than ever.

Morning found a quiet and subdued hall. All were waiting for Faith to recover long enough to be able to tell them what had happened, to sleep off the Poppy juice she’d been given.

Inga and Earic had eaten a fine breakfast polishing off two bowls of porridge each. Their mugs had been filled time and time over with milk from the goats kept in the shed, then they’d been taken outside by Helga to go and help with the goats and cows. They were too young for proper work, not having lost any baby teeth yet, but they enjoyed stroking the gentle nannies and the milk cow was fun to ride.

William had woken early and walked the walls with Xander and Connor when they checked every part of it was secure. He looked every inch the warrior now and wondered if his mother would recognise her bookish son when he returned to Wessex. There was tension in the air: it felt like his brother’s hall, ill at ease, waiting for a battle. They were unsure of whether there had been an attack on Faith’s homestead or if this was personal. If personal, the villains could have followed her here.

‘Who is Faith?’ William asked Connor, ‘she seems important to Buffy and I wouldn’t like to make any mistakes.’

‘As if you would anyway, but Faith is Buffy’s foster sister. They were raised together, learning to manage the hall, and they were close. They fought, in fact their fights were legendary, they’re both so strong: forceful, you know. They could frighten any man who stood against them. No one faced them both though, if they gang up against you, you run. The Caliphates seem about the right distance, and a fast ship is useful as well,’ he laughed.

‘Faith was married, to Bjorn and held a hall about a day and a half from here. They divorced about a year ago, he had taken to drink and had hit her badly; she didn’t accept it and challenged him to treat her properly, with respect. He wouldn’t, so we talked divorce. Me for her family, she’s my cousin on my Mother’s side, he for his. It was announced at the Thing, but he wouldn’t hand over her share of their property, so I took that to the Thing for her, and they ordered him to pay up. He attacked us there so the Thing ordered him out of the house. It was to be hers completely. His mother still lived there though and we knew that would be a problem, and it seems it was.’

‘What, what’s a divorce? And how could the hall be hers if she was married? Surely her husband controls it?’

‘The marriage was no more, the Thing took the children and his lands away from Bjorn, no woman has to put up with being mistreated and he went for her, attacked her while she was under the protection of the Thing, then went for Buffy and for me. He didn’t pay compensation when told to, so was declared Wolf’s Head.’

William looked dumbstruck He had never heard of such a thing before. A marriage being no more? It was a holy union between man and woman, yet another difference between Saxon and Northman and again in the woman’s favour. In his world a woman was the property first of her father then her husband. She had no rights against them at all. A woman didn’t get her freedom until she’d been widowed, and only then sometimes if she’d been allowed her dower house and lands back. His mother still lived with his brother and at his brother’s pleasure. Here a woman had rights inside the marriage? How his mother would like that. She had been raised in Mercia, and had served at The Lady of Mercia’s court before her marriage twenty five years before. His father had been less understanding of intelligent women and his mother had lost so much when she had married.

‘So you are telling me that if a woman doesn’t like the way she’s treated by her husband, she can leave?’ he continued to question his new friends.

‘Well, yes, certainly.’

‘And the children?’

‘Well they normally stay with the father’s family when they are older, but little ones stay with their mother, and Bjorn was such a drunken idiot anyway that he wasn’t trusted, he couldn’t even read!! He’s wolfheaded so we cannot give him shelter, nor help; it got nasty for a while at the Thing and with him refusing to pay up the compensation, he was an idiot. This will mean bloodshed if he’s caught.’


Connor continued to look out beyond the shelter of the wall, into the forest beyond and quietened down, leaving William with his thoughts.

Faith felt like she was floating, and as she came back to her body she could feel pain. Her arm hurt as did her chest and her face, but they didn’t hurt as much as they had.

She looked around her. The side of the shut bed had been left open and she could see the Hall beyond. The smell alone told her she wasn’t at home. There was no stale beer in the air, no rotten meat. Her mother –in-law had been useless at keeping hall, and wouldn’t allow Faith to do her job. She hadn’t had the keys at all. She tried to sit up and make herself a little more comfortable, as well as being able to see where she was. Willow heard the grunt of pain from her patient and popped her head around the corner from where she’d been mixing up some more herbs: willow bark tea for pain relief and to relieve the swelling. She had ice as well in case the arm got too big.

‘Good to see you awake,’ she smiled at Faith.

‘Willow? Is that you? Where are the children?’

‘Yes and the little ones are helping Helga outside with the goats.’

‘I made it to Buffy’s hall?’

‘You did and Connor has sworn protection for you,’ Willow made her way round the bed and helped the woman to sit up. ‘Now you’re to stay there for a couple more hours,’ she instructed Faith.

‘I need to pee.’ Faith tried to get out of bed, struggling to sit up using only one hand.

Willow looked around the hall, and saw Tara, she would need two of them to support Faith as they made their way to the night soil pot. Faith didn’t dare take a deep breath, it hurt too much and she was glad the men were nowhere about.

When she’d finished Willow and Tara helped her back to the shut bed, and sat her on the side of it. They changed the linen sheets and settled her back to bed, to sleep.

‘You can eat when you wake, but you must rest properly. When you do wake Connor would like to talk to you about what happened.’

‘It was Bjorn, his mother had been keeping him, and he came back and tried to take the hall. The bitch had been feeding him and telling him what was happening in the area. She told him that Connor was back and he was talking about taking out your hall. I had to warn you, so I’d harnessed up the sleigh and was going to send one of the servants, but she, Maggie, caught me and she and Bjorn started laying into me. I grabbed the kids and ran.’

She started to fall back to sleep, the medicines and pain and relief at being safe taking their toll, but not before the tears fell onto her cheeks. It had been a harrowing few days for the poor woman.

Inga and Earic came running into the Hall: they were full of stories about the goat and how she was cuddling into them, their childish laughter bringing a smile to all about them. Connor had followed them into the Hall and sat quietly while Faith talked to Willow. He had overheard her telling Willow what had happened and who had attacked her. He had no love for the idiot ex-holder and asked Buffy and Xander to start to scribe down the facts on thin sheets of bark. The runes spelt out the problems Faith had been having and asked the local halls to be careful and keep a watch out.

William looked in surprise, he was used to seeing scribes use pen and ink, but the fact that two members of the hall could scribe fascinated him, even though the symbols were completely different from anything he’d ever seen before, and were being scratched onto wood with knives.

‘Does everyone read and write that language?’

‘What, this?’ Xander asked as he scratched a few more lines on the birch bark.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, well most of us: these are runes, they are easy to carve into wood, Buffy can show you anytime,’ Xander answered.

He watched Buffy writing away with her knife for a while.

‘What’s so odd William?’ she asked with a smile on her face. ‘I know that look: it’s the one you get when there is a huge difference between this Hall and the one you were raised in.’

‘It’s just I think my mother is the only woman I know who can read, and no woman deals with business.’

‘Well yes, Buffy and Anya deal with all the business while we’re away,’ Xander pointed out, then added cheekily, ‘why have a dog and bark yourself?’, only to be hit on the head by both Anya and Buffy.

He grinned at them and carried on with his carving, careful not to upset either woman again, both of whom were giving him evil stares.

Jon and Andrew were putting easily eaten food on the table and going about their duties quietly and Connor had just relieved Olaf on the wall when the signal horn came in that visitors were approaching. The men in the Hall grabbed weapons and mail and headed to their allotted places on the Pale. William stood at Connor’s shoulder as part of the defence force, the woman taking shelter inside: he hoped. But Connor should have known better.

William looked over the wall to see four men below, all heavily armed and standing with flaming torches. He looked in askance at Connor.

‘It is Bjorn and his men, the ones that wouldn’t leave his side even after the Wolfshead.’ Connor answered the unasked question quietly.

‘We demand entrance!’ Bjorn shouted. ‘You have my wife and children in there!’

Inga and Earic started crying, scared by the sound of their father’s voice. William knew that feeling. He was trying to follow the conversation that was being shouted to and from the ground.

‘We don’t have a wife of yours here and any children are under my protection.’ Connor replied. ‘You were declared Wolfshead, Bjorn: you will find no succour here. Leave now whilst you still have the chance.’

There was swearing from the ground outside the walls, then a flaming arrow was sent over their heads, heading for the thatch covering the roofs of the outbuildings. Anya and Helga looked at the arrow in surprise. It had actually made it over the wall! Someone on the other side was either as good a shot as Buffy or had Loki on their side. They weren’t worried about the roof catching fire though as it was sodden from all the snow. The arrow fizzled out quietly whilst Bjorn kept on shouting.

There was no going back for either side now, but it was more likely to be a slaughter than a fight. The defenders were well protected by the thick walls and they had the advantage of greater numbers and higher ground.

William wasn’t sure what to expect next: a formal challenge perhaps? What he hadn’t expected was Buffy climbing up the steps to the platform armed with a bow and wearing a quiver full of arrows. She handed other bows to the men on the platform; Connor and Xander took one each, but before they had chance to get off a shot Buffy had put a cloth yard of ash through Bjorn’s chest. He was still shouting as he fell to his knees and then face down in the snow, the arrow breaking as he fell. The silence following the death was deafening. No-one spoke for a second or two, then the air was riven with arrows from the defenders, the attackers falling in the snow, dead before they had a chance to attack. Connor looked at Buffy and raised an eyebrow.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘That,’ he pointed at the body.

‘Your place is on the ships. This hall is mine to defend and protect. Don’t ever forget that.’

‘Yes,’ he answered slowly, ‘but I was standing right here.’

‘I noticed that, and you’re a little slow on the loosening of your arrows, boy. I have better things to do with my time than listen to you and he shout insults at one another for half a day; besides, he was scaring the children.’

Connor started laughing and unstrung his bow. His face then sobered up. ‘You do realise,’ he added, ‘I’m going to have to go to the Thing now.’

‘Ah, what a shame,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Makes a change, you normally try and catch the tide the week before.’

‘Come on, let’s get back in the warm; anyway, I want to go skiing tomorrow.’ Connor led the way down the steps, William following and helping Buffy down. This harsh, warrior-like Buffy scared him a little. But her eyes still glowed when they looked at him. He took a deep breath and lifted her down the last step, taking her bow and quiver from her.

‘What will you do with the bodies?’ He asked quietly, he didn’t want to have her wrath turned on him.

‘Leave ‘em, there are wolves and boar that need feeding. We’ll strip them of anything we can use, it’s too hard to dig a grave and I’m not burning them with precious wood. Anyway, we’ll need proof we got them, there’ll be money in that.’ She answered with no trace of emotion in her voice.

Xander, Connor and Olaf went out to confirm that they were dead, so that they could bear witness later at the Thing. Andrew and Jon were then sent to drag the naked bodies further into the woods to stop bears and wolves sniffing around the hall. Faith looked up from where she was sitting with her arms around her children.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing to worry about, we were just making sure your former husband will no longer be an inconvenience to you. The old bear is now wolf meat.’

The whole hall burst out laughing at the pun and Faith joined in. She felt the weight of the world lift off her shoulders. Her children were safe. William wondered what was so funny.

‘Wolf meat: Bjorn means bear, so the bear is wolf meat.’

He still looked confused. ‘Perhaps you have to be Norse to understand,’ Buffy smiled at him.

Buffy was seeing to everyone in the hall, she looked calm and capable after the day they’d had. She didn’t seem to be at all upset at killing a man, but William could see that at times her hand shook and she had to steel herself to continue her work. Faith just seemed relieved. William watched as Willow went towards the dark haired girl with yet another brew. She made her medicines in the pottery cup kept on a separate shelf; come to think of it, Buffy had that cup of something every morning. He’d have to ask her what it was for. It was then that it struck William that it was the only pottery cup in the whole place. There were wooden cups and stone cups but that pottery cup Willow used was the only one in the hall. Another difference between his old home and his new one.

Faith gratefully took the brew from Willow. She didn’t have to ask what it was for. Willow had seen the bruises on the inside of Faith’s legs and knew what had happened. The last thing Faith needed was a child to result from the rape.

Willow watched as Buffy settled the hall down; it was obvious to her that her friend was upset. But Buffy wouldn’t let it show; she sat writing the facts of the day on birch bark and putting the tablets carefully in her own cloth bag that hung on a peg above her bed area. Then she and Connor went through the little amount of silver Bjorn and his men had on them: their clothes weren’t fit for kitchen rags. Buffy looked in disgust at the dirty cloth in her hand.

‘This is so unlike Faith,’ Buffy said, really quietly, not wanting her foster sister to overhear any gossip about her hearth and home.

‘I don’t think it was Faith. I don’t think Maggie allowed her to hold the Hall as it should be held,’ Connor replied. Buffy had to agree the children had been clean and clad in clean clothes, but underfed. ‘I think Faith has been struggling for a while.’ Connor was equally as quiet.

‘Well we can help there, we’ll send a crew back with her when she returns to her own home after the Thing,’ Buffy said in a firm voice. ‘That’s if she wants to go. It will be up to Faith, but her hall was profitable once and could be again.’

‘After the Thing: she needn’t decide just yet,’ Connor agreed in a soft voice. ‘Maggie of the Welsh has always been known as a strange woman with peculiar ways, but now she’ll be out of society completely. After all, she has protected one who had been wolf’s head.’

‘I would love to be there when she finds out what happened to her precious boy.’

‘Well you will be,’ Connor reminded her. ‘We’ll be telling everyone at the Thing.’

‘Oh shit,’ Buffy sat back, leaning on the post holding up the roof. ‘That’s all I need: Maggie Welsh screaming and shouting at me.’ Buffy rarely swore and Connor looked at her in surprise when she did.

‘I’m sure you can cope with that dog barking at you Buffy. You cope with everything else, and if she tries anything you will be under the protection of the Thing, and we can deal with her there and then in public with plenty of witnesses.’

‘So that’s you and me going, Xander, Faith will have to go - the children can stay here. Anya will have to stay: she won’t want to take little Alex on a journey just yet. William might enjoy it though; Willow will have to stay here and run the place, Anya can help. Olaf will come; if I’m going, Helga had better go with me, can’t have tongues wagging about me gallivanting around on my own. Tara had better stay, though. No reason for her to go and we don’t want any trouble; well, any more trouble than we’re going to get.’

Connor looked a little crest fallen at that.

‘You’ll just have to think of her lots, her and Willow here, by themselves,’ Buffy said with a teasing smile. Connor started to wriggle uneasily in his chair. Buffy was not playing fair at all.

‘What do you want from her Connor? Do you want her to stay here with us? I know she and Willow have gotten close, and you always saw Willow as yours. Are you looking to replace me as Lady of the hall with two women?’

‘I would love for her to stay, but I promised her that we would send her home. I want her to be happy: she’s happy with Willow and I think she could be content with me but a woman needs to be among her own kind. I think that’s where Maggie had so many problems: she never settled here.’ Connor said insightfully, then laughed. ‘I think being with Xander is rubbing off on me. I’d better round up some of the crew: we’d better go mob-handed to the Thing. I’ll take about half the warriors with us as well. And anyway it would take two to replace the work you do here, don’t think I don’t know it.’

‘Very well, I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Buffy said as she laughed and headed towards where William was settling for the night. ‘Can you close up the hall, Connor? I need an early night.’

Connor lifted his hand in acknowledgement of her request and sat watching the flames. It was going to be an interesting Thing.

Buffy slipped off her overdress and crawled in beside William. He was lovely and warm and she snuggled into his back, trying to keep her icy feet close enough to be warmed but far enough away from him not to chill him too much. William seemed very tense: the day had taken its toll on the young Saxon man, and he seemed very young at that point.

‘Are you all right, William? It was scary out there for a few minutes, wasn’t it?’ Hoping that was what was wrong with him. Buffy had never believed that love was for her, she was all about duty and responsibility but this curly haired stranger had worked his way straight into her heart. Opening parts up that she had believed had been locked forever. Trust Freya to throw this at her now. Well she would trust the Gods, and hope that Loki wasn’t in the mix. Things would work out for everyone: she had to believe it.

‘I suppose so,’ he replied tersely. Today had been too much for him. He had far too many questions and desperately needed answers.

‘William?’

‘What am I to you, pet? What is this?’ He turned and pointed to the bed between them. ‘Just some fun for the winter?’

‘No, I would never use you like that, William. Where has this come from? Have I done something to upset you?’

‘No. Yes. No, it’s just… you didn’t let us defend you, you didn’t let me protect you at all, you killed that man without a thought: what are you?’

‘I am what I have always been, William: Lady of a Northern Hall. I have to protect and hold this place. I know your instinct is to protect, but so is mine. I’m a Lady Holder and a Mother, and it wasn’t without a thought.’

‘A mother? You never told me that; where’s your child?’

‘He died, as some do, Soon after his father, in fact. It’s not something I think about very often. It hurts too much. He got sick one winter and he just didn’t get well again. Willow did everything she could think of but nothing helped him. His breathing got worse and worse and the fever wouldn’t break.’ Buffy hid her head in William’s shoulder. It melted his heart to hear her quiet sobs.

‘And today? I could see you were upset afterwards pet, but you didn’t let anyone in.’

‘Who could I let in but you? And you’re not of our people, your women are subservient in the extreme. Faith has seen the ice giants fight in her own home, Willow carries the weight of keeping us healthy, Anya has Alex to think about, Connor has to cope with the thought of keeping us all safe and the children, they were so scared. Their father had ruled with fear. Who could I turn to? Who is there for me? I was selfish, I took something for ME, I saw you and felt something for the first time since my Leif died. I felt an attraction: you made me feel whole again. So I took advantage of it, totally, but today you were another member of my household in danger from a mad wolf.’

‘You see me as a member of your household? Well that’s good then.’ He said smiling at her.

‘Yes, I suppose it is. I do forget that you are a guest sometimes: often, really. I love having you here William, and if you were of my people I think I would have Connor approach your family to see if you ...’

‘If I what, love?’

‘Nothing.’ She looked away from him in embarrassment. William could see the red creeping up her face.

‘If I what, pet? Come on, you started this conversation.’

‘Would want to make this permanent.’ She whispered.

‘Would you accept that sort of offer from me?’

‘I could be tempted,’ Buffy laughed as her face went red.

‘I think I could be tempted as well, provided the dowry was good enough of course,’ he added with a grin.

‘Oh you!’ She hit him on the shoulder, gently and then gratefully accepted the place back in his arms.

Buffy looked up at the roof of her hall and thought about Faith again.

‘There was no laughter in that hall, and for our people that is highly unusual. And that shot: Bjorn wasn’t expecting it from me. He was waiting for Connor or one of the others to attack, then they would have all shot at you. I couldn’t risk you, and I couldn’t risk Connor. You are both so precious to me.’

‘Ah pet,’ he leant over her and kissed her gently on the lips.

‘You are no winter fling, William. No man has shared my bed or my thoughts since Angel died, and he only ever shared my bed, never my thoughts. If I could, I would ask you to stay, but honour demands you return to your own people.’ She sounded sleepy and was quietening as William rubbed her lower back.

‘What’s the drink Willow gave Faith and you take every morning, pet? No secrets after today please, just tell me the truth.’

Buffy pulled herself up onto her knees and looked at William in the firelight, her eyes guarded as though what she was about to tell him was something dreadful.

‘It’s a potion that Willow makes that reduces the chances of being blessed with a child. Faith had been attacked and wanted no child from that, and William, can you honestly tell me that if I carried your child you would leave me here and go home alone? And if you stayed, you would have no rank in the hall other than the one I gave you. You were born noble, we all can see that; it would destroy you in the end, it would any man. And I couldn’t face that. I didn’t want you to have to choose between staying and leaving, either way your honour would have been wounded.’

William felt his heart sink a little that she didn’t want his child, but he understood her reasoning. He knew that he would never have been able to choose between going and staying in those circumstances, either way would have hurt him so badly, again she had been wiser than him. He opened his arms and wrapped them around her, drawing her into his side, there they fell asleep wrapped together; no one could tell where one ended and the other began.

William got turfed off the bench where he was sitting by Anya. He didn’t complain though, he didn’t dare. Every man in the hall had been moved at least twice as the women pulled boxes and chests out of hiding places from all over the hall. The preparations for the Thing were under way.

Connor’s shut bed had been stripped and the mattress lifted, Buffy using it as an excuse to take the blankets outside to air. The wooden slats underneath had been moved and four large chests had been removed from their hiding place below. They and all the rest of the chests had been put under the only table that had been left standing in the chaos.

Tara and Willow came back into the hall. They had spent the morning in the home field with the birthing ewes and had come into the house to grab some food before heading back out to their work. Tara stared in amazement at the huge pile of silver that had appeared as if from nowhere. There were tablet braids and silks piled high, a king’s ransom in anyone’s eyes. Buffy was sorting through the hanks of tablet braid, picking out the best and second best. She held up a long length, three times the height of a man, of dark blue and purple, expensive high ranked colours, and set it aside.
‘That is staying here,’ she said and continued sorting through the luxurious lengths. Tara had never seen such wonderful braid. She would have touched it but her hands were still dirty from the birthings she’d been attending.

Willow and Tara washed their hands and faces in the bowls of clean water that Andrew brought them. They were then presented with platters of cold meat, cheese and bread. They even had a small sour apple each, taken from the stores. After all the months here was still amazed at the amount of food they were given to eat: she hadn’t been hungry once since she’d arrived. Her figure had filled out and even her hair had grown longer, she was sure. Tara smiled at Willow, her greatest joy. She looked up at Connor who was watching the pair of them.

‘Any luck in the field?’ He asked.

‘Three sets of twins amongst the first lambs,’ Willow replied, ‘and they are all doing well. I’ve sent Jon out to fix extra hurdles as shelter in the field for the mothers, and had hay left out for the others. We’ll do well from them this year if it keeps on like this.’

‘That’s good, have we lost any?’

‘Not one. Tara even got one really nice ewe lamb breathing again, the mother has taken to it well.’

‘Good.’ Connor replied as he accepted his plate from Andrew. Blushing as he felt Tara’s eyes on him.

Tara looked at the chaos in the hall. She grabbed Andrew as he went passed with a full jug of ale.

‘Don’t forget to feed Buffy, she’s so busy she’ll only forget.’

Andrew nodded and went to make up another plate.

Connor felt his heart warm. Tara was a lovely young woman. If she’d been Norse he would be sending Xander to talk to her family about now; her smile towards Willow was gentleness itself. She would make a fine lady one day. He sighed and finished his meal quickly before Buffy or Anya shoved him out the way again. He looked around for male support. Every man in the hall looked awkward and in the way.

‘I’m going to check the boats,’ he announced. It took only a moment or two before Xander and Olaf volunteered to help before they got dragged into hall work. They grabbed William’s arm as they passed him.

‘Come on, you really don’t want to stay around here today!’

William followed the men down to the water’s edge along the path to the noust.
Connor looked at his beautiful ship, his mistress. She had suffered little during the winter. Beside her within the boathall built by his great-grandfather, was a lovely, wide merchant ship. The difference between the two was obvious. One was built for speed and one for comfort; one tiny, the other large. They were a perfect pair. The Sea Stallion could get the goods and their new little beauty could take them around the coast and sell them. Connor hadn’t really taken much notice of the ship that Buffy had acquired for them the previous summer; as always his darling stepmother had done well for their family and hall.

Connor looked across to William. He seemed uncomfortable so near the ships.

‘Thinking about going home? We’ll get you there safely, you know.’

‘It’s not that, I’m just not sure I want to go. Tara and I have been treated better here than we ever were at home. I know she would love to stay.’

Connor looked sharply at William’s words.

‘You think she wants to stay?’

‘I know she does, but honour demands…’

Connor seemed to shrink back. ‘Yes, honour demands.’

The Norse men were checking both ships carefully. They unloaded the sails and opened them out on the ground. Both sails had survived the winter well. Connor was glad: it would save a lot of work later. He hated mixing up the ochre, fish oil and urine to make the preservative they painted on the sails when they had to. This year they would miss that awful process, it stank and he hated it with a passion. He even used to bribe Andrew and Jon to use their free afternoon to do the job for him: it cost him silver every time.
The two slaves always grinned at him when he came to negotiate, after all their free time was theirs and he had to pay them to work it.

William watched in amazement at the men worked up and down checking the strakes of the ship. Oar plugs were double checked as were the seal skin ropes. William remembered just how much his father had paid for a small amount of such rope. This hall was richer than even the Earl of Wessex’s Hall. They must be as rich as Mercia. It hit him hard just how far above him Buffy really was.

Connor called to him to help fold up the sails and they headed back to the hall hoping that the women had finally sorted out all the valuables they wanted to take to the Thing and that peace would reign in the hall.

Three small chests and a huge pile of braids were piled up on the table as they came in. William could smell fresh bread and a thick fish stew. There were honey cakes to follow. Food was packed in sacks. All was ready for the morning.

He held on tight to Buffy that night. He could smell the gentle flower fragrance in her hair. His mouth found that sweet spot on her neck that always started her moans off. She felt powerless against him as he kissed and licked her, his hands, his talented fingers finding her most intimate place and invading her body. She was already wet for him and although he wanted to spend the night taking her she pulled him quickly on top and he found himself deep within her body. His thrusts were slow and measured. He listened carefully to her small gasps of breath, she was so responsive to his every move. How could he ever let her go? His thrusts became fiercer and deeper, more frantic and urgent and he could feel his own climax coming. The fluttering of Buffy’s silky channel was the final thing he needed as he emptied himself inside her.

‘I love you Buffy’ he whispered as she fell asleep in his arms.

‘Love you too,’ she muttered as sleep finally took her.

William couldn’t quite believe that his ears had really heard that. She loved him too. How was he ever going to let her go?

The next morning everyone was up before dawn. The pack horses had been brought around to the front of the hall and were being loaded with the sacks William had seen on the table the night before. The sails from the two longships were put aboard the wagon, as were the chests. Connor, Olaf and Xander were arming up. Mail and swords were evident. They had blowing horns in their hands and were putting them into the packs on the riding horses.

Buffy had spent the early morning giving order upon order for the running of the hall while she was away. There was a lot to do. Spring had shown her green gown early and although Buffy knew that they couldn’t plant yet, she knew they could get a head start on the ploughing and preparation.

‘Now Jon, you make sure you get the upper fields ploughed and ready for seeding if you get a couple of dry days. I want the walls around the bottom fields checked. We will only be away for a sen’night or so, so just do what you can.’

Anya was laughing. Buffy was always the same whenever she was away from the hall. She knew that Buffy found it hard to let go of control, but that was what had kept them alive during hard times so they tolerated her bossiness and smiled as she listed jobs.
Willow gave her the look that warned Buffy she was getting into Lady mode and Buffy had the grace to blush.

‘I’m doing it again aren’t I?’

‘Yes sweetie, but we don’t mind, we know it’s either because you care or you are a controlling woman who can’t let go of anything.’

Buffy started laughing. Faith who had just come up behind them spoke up.

‘She’s controlling, always has been. Hey Saxon: does she still hog all the blankets at night?’

William went bright red, it still embarrassed him how easily it was accepted that he and Buffy shared the same sleeping area. And he simply refused to answer Faith, who just laughed and wandered off to see Connor.

The heavier draft horses were harnessed up to the wagon and everything was being readied for the group to head out for the Thing. There was shouting and yelling from outside the pale. The massive gates were opened to reveal a party of warriors William recognised from the ship. They, too, were armed and mailed up. They had riding horses with them, as well as a couple of pack horses. They were in their best clothes and had arm rings of silver on display.

Finally, about two hours after sun up, the wagon and horses were ready. Olaf lifted Helga up into the saddle and helped her recover her ankles. He handed her the reins and kissed her fingers. Olaf then swung himself up into his own saddle. The horse was a little skittish for a couple of moments before settling down. Olaf guided it beside the pretty mare Helga was riding. He would escort his wife.

Buffy gave William a very pointed look. He was supposed to do something but for the life of him couldn’t work out what; surely she didn’t mean for him to lift her up? Xander gave him a shove. ‘You’re the only one other than Connor who can touch her without permission: help her up, boy!’ William could have kicked himself. He was used to hiding his feelings but these people weren’t. He didn’t want Buffy to feel that he was ashamed of her, and hurried over. He placed his hands around her slim waist and in front of her whole hall he lifted her easily onto her horse and handed her the reins. He kissed her fingers as he’d seen Olaf do and smiled up at her.

She turned to those staying behind and waved. Kicking her horse on she took her place ahead of the wagon; Xander jumped up onto the driving seat and grabbed the reins. Willow and Tara were standing shoulder to shoulder, their arms around each other’s waist. Anya held Alec up to wave to his father, waving as they left.

Connor blew his horn and they set out for the Thing.

William felt sore, they had been travelling for three days, Faith sitting with Xander in the wagon; they had laughed, sang, chatted, played games, told riddles, anything to make the time pass faster, but it had still been three days travelling, and he wasn’t used to riding that much. The saddle was beautifully made, high enough front and back to support him, but after three days parts of his anatomy were sore!!.

Every short while one of the men would sound out his horn, a long clear note to let all know they were there, they were travelling openly and wanted no mistakes about their purpose. True travellers sounded the horn. The road they were taking seemed well used. There were even clearings available for them to set up camp at night. It was obvious from the speed the camp appeared that they were used to their places and jobs. William tried to help but it seemed that he just got in the way, he could however fetch water and help with the horses, but that was about all, so well organised was everyone else.

The three women shared the smaller tent, the men either on guard duty or sleeping in the larger tent with swords close at hand. Although they were under the peace of the Thing as they travelled, they were neither stupid nor foolhardy. William was allowed to take his turn at guard, for which he was grateful. He spent a few hours sitting by the small fire, feeding it dry wood and listening out for anything that seemed odd. The noises of the night didn’t worry him or Sven, the other man on duty; it was the quiet that was the danger, quiet that said a predator was amongst them, whether animal or human.

One of the funniest things William had seen was the desperation on everyone’s face the first night when Buffy had offered to cook. Xander had actually gone white: so had Faith. Olaf looked as though a demon were after him and Connor had started shaking. They had politely but forcefully declined her kind offer and suggested that she go and help gather firewood from the forest they had been travelling through. William heard her moans and complaints from where he was attending to the fire.

‘What was that about?’ he asked.

Xander looked at him, and grinned. ‘Under no circumstance EVER let Buffy cook, she manages to burn everything she touches. She even burnt down the bake house once.’

Buffy shouted something unintelligible at them but she was smiling. She had other talents, and anyway, cooking was for others.

Faith had been made to rest on a log near by the first night and was watching him from under her dark and soulful eyes. Her arm was still supported by a sling. She had been given a small bag of something by Willow to ease any pain she might feel. Faith eased the arm in its sling: even without riding the travelling was hard on her body. She was one of those that gave away little, not sly but wary and careful. Life had been hard to the pretty, no, beautiful woman.

‘What do you see in my sister, Saxon? Bed sport to keep you busy until you go home to your lady love perhaps?’ Her tone was light but William could feel the strength in her voice.

‘I have no lady waiting for me my Lady, other than my mother, and I do not trifle with Buffy. She is something very special.’

‘Good. I would hate to have to kill you for some reason,’ she added with a grim smile.

William shuddered. He knew she wasn't joking. The frightened woman who had appeared at the hall just a few short weeks ago was fading fast; in her place was a dark haired scary version of Buffy. William thought back to the arrow shot that had killed Bjorn. He was glad he was a friend to these women and not an enemy, not yet at least. Things would change when he went home, of course. Then he would be another Saxon. He hoped he would never come up against the folk he had met while he had been here. He did not know in all honesty if he could kill Connor or Xander now.

It started raining the next morning, a slow steady rain that soaked everything. William was very grateful for the thick, heavy cloak that he had been given. Two days of solid rain left the path muddy and hard going for the waggon. But they travelled on. The day was punctuated by the sound of the blowing horn announcing their presence to all, and of laughter. William didn’t think he had ever heard so much laughter.

It was already coming to late afternoon before they spied the great clearing where the Thing would be held. Connor sounded his horn loud and long, the others joining in, ensuring that they weren't seen as unexpected guests. A slave, short hair and iron collar denoting his status, ran up to them and pointed their caravan in the direction of a clearing that had been set aside. There was a pile of wood to one side and a barrel of what appeared to be ale waiting for them.

When they had settled the horses, the men set up the tents. There were stone and turf walls ready to take the temporary roof of a sail, making two halls, one large and one small. The smaller one would be used for storage and the larger for sleeping in. The fire was soon alight and warmth spread along the ground. The wood was good dry ash, which burnt with a warm flame and little smoke. What fascinated William the most though were the huge tents in the central camping area. They were made from two triangles of wood, one at each end and connected by three long poles, with a huge woollen sheet across them. William watched as five men lifted one of the long poles between them and walked towards the centre of the tent, lifting the roof high as they went. When it was up, William saw it was as big as some halls, easily sleeping 40 or so men. Servants rushed around; a brazier was lit and tables set out inside: a Kings Hall indeed.

William watched everything with wonder. It was so different from the staid and settled meetings he’d been to when he was younger. There was a vibrancy and excitement in the air.

He looked warily towards three men as they walked towards their camp. Buffy, Faith and Helga had vanished off towards the bustle of what appeared to be a market. They would return with food and drink for the whole of their little camp, freshly made and sold for the convenience of those travelling into the Thing.

‘Connor, incoming!’ he called when it was obvious the men were headed in their direction. Connor turned to see who was headed towards them.
He waved his hand and made his way to the strangers.

‘Halfdan, Leif and Skapti, it is good to see you again.’

‘Connor, it’s a surprise to see you, normally Buffy comes. How on earth did she manage to persuade you to leave riding your sea-mistress and come to The Thing?’ One of them replied as they gripped Connor’s forearm in welcome.

William could see all three men were seasoned warriors, intelligent and watchful. They noticed all the men, counted the number with Connor and one had his eyes straight into William’s soul.

Connor laughed. ‘Leif, we will have to discuss it at the Open Thing, but I have reason to be here this time.’

He one he’d called Leif nodded, then looked across at William. ‘Who’s the stranger?’

‘William of Wessex, he’s staying with us until his and his cousin’s ransoms are paid.’

Leif nodded and accepted what had been said. He looked at William. William felt
the authority coming from the man and bowed as he would at court.

‘You will stand guarantor for his behaviour here?’ One of the other men asked.

‘I will, Skapti.’

‘Is Buffy with you?’ asked the third man, looking around their camp. There was a look in his eyes that disquieted William’s soul. He worked out that he must be Halfdan: he’d heard that name before.

‘Yes, and Helga and Faith.’

‘Faith?!’ he exploded with a laugh. ‘What’s she doing here? I didn’t think she would want to come to The Thing again after last time.’

‘She had to come.’ Connor looked at the men; understanding seemed to pass between them.

‘Where are they now, then?’

‘Shopping, in fact...’ The men turned to see the three women being followed by a couple of serfs carrying baskets and cooking pots: iron pots that looked hot. The woman had their arms holding woven bags that were full of bread.

‘Food’s arrived!’ Faith called. Then yelled, ‘Hafdan!’ at the top of her voice. Buffy’s head snapped round from where she was talking to Xander to see the tall brunette and her face lit up with a lovely smile. William felt his heart clench a little and he stepped back to see how Buffy would greet these strangers.

Faith and Buffy handed their bags over to Xander and lifted their skirts as they ran towards the visitors. Hafdan started laughing. ‘Have they ever grown up?’ He commented to Connor.

‘Not that we’ve noticed,’ Connor grinned back.

Both Faith and Buffy came to a skidding stop and dropped into deep curtseys.
‘Jarl Leif , Hauldr Hafdan, Speaker Skapti,’ Buffy said. All three men bowed their heads.

‘Lady Elizabeth, you grace our poor presence with your beauty and life. My Lady Faith, it pleases old eyes to see such loveliness,’ Leif said. There was mischief in his look, though. William took another pace forward, ready to defend Buffy if needed, though what he could do against three armed and armoured warriors he was unsure. He was in an unknown world that was confusing him and it was daunting him.

Buffy smiled and then started laughing. ‘You’ve been practising your flattery, and don’t let your wife hear you, she’d have my head.’

Faith just laughed at him, but it was a joyful laugh and good to hear from her. Then both women hugged Jarl Leif, holding close to his chest. The giant of a man, he must have been over 6 foot, wrapped two great arms around the women and pulled them in for a cuddle. William felt something break in his heart. Maybe Buffy was one who would share her favours with many men.

Buffy looked up at Jarl Leif and pulled his head down to kiss him on the cheek. ‘There is someone I want you to meet,’ she said with a smile, her eyes sparkling and dancing.
William had turned away to go back to their shelter: he didn’t want to see his Buffy in the arms of another man.

Buffy looked around for William, and saw him rushing away. She looked up at the sky and hoped at least one of the Gods would give her strength: what had made him run away this time? She left Faith to continue cuddling the Jarl, not that either of them minded, and hurried after William. She finally caught up with him at the doorway to their temporary hall.

‘What is it William, why did you hurry off like that?’

'What do you care? Why don’t you go back to your honey bun,’ he snapped.

Whatever reaction William expected, laughter wasn’t it. Outrage, indignation yes, but not laughter.

'William, would you please come and be introduced to my friends?’ When she put it like that he couldn’t say no, after the kindnesses and joy she’d shown him. He would face the man that was his rival for her heart.

'Do you love the Jarl? I saw how you greeted him,’ he snapped at her, his anger making his blue eyes stormy but his heart breaking.

‘I love him dearly and have for years,’ she answered. William failed to see the mischief in her eyes as she led him back, nearly dragging him by the hand. Connor raised an eyebrow at the sight of his mother and her love.

‘Jarl Leif, this is William of Wessex: he’s a guest in our hall.’ William bowed again to the man. ‘William, this is Jarl Leif, brother to the king and my uncle who was foster father to me for some years when I was little.’

Uncle!! William felt such a fool. Buffy wasn’t like Harmony, fluttering her eyes at every man who looked at her. He should have had more faith in her: he should have trusted her.

The Jarl was holding out his right hand, a warrior’s shake. He grasped William’s forearm and looked at the man who had caused his beloved niece to blush so prettily.

‘You are welcome here, William. Connor has stood surety for you. Now niece, would you and Faith and Connor do me the honour of dining in my hall tonight?'

Buffy's eyes went to William and then back to her uncle. Leif was not stupid, he noticed the way his niece looked at the Saxon. ‘Of course, William as well.'

‘We would be delighted.' Connor answered for all of them. ‘We will be with you soon after dark.’

Buffy turned to the other two men and curtseyed. 'Tonight, then.'
William and Connor followed the women back to their shelter and grabbed some of the fresh baked bread Xander had saved. It took the edge off their hunger, and they stood well back as Faith and Buffy prepared themselves for a night in the Jarls hall.

William looked at the tunic in his pack: it was clean but nothing special. He didn't want to let either Connor or Buffy down, but he had nothing else. He shrugged off the dirty over and under tunics he’d worn for the journey. Helga and Olaf had brought warm water for them to wash down the mud and dirt, it was surprising how quickly he’d gotten used to washing his body. The cloth felt cool over his skin, but the mud soon came off and he splashed his face before rubbing that as well. The fire in their temporary hall had warmed the air, but he still got a few goosebumps. He turned to watch Buffy, her hair glinting in the light from the fire and candles; she had opened up her pack and pulled out a pleated linen underdress in the most wonderful green that matched her eyes. She slipped on an overdress, a full hangerock, in deep green, a double-dye that would have cost his mother a full year's clothing allowance. The brooches she normally wore were put aside in favour of a pair of silver-gilt ones and the beads hanging between them were of glass and amber, expensive beyond belief. Then she added a third string of beads, blue lapis. William had finally seen enough, that string of beads alone would pay for a huge estate, hall and all, at home. Just how rich was this woman, he wondered, shaking his head.

Connor looked at William, he seemed uncomfortable again. What had discomforted his friend this time? Then he caught himself: his friend? He would have to think about that at a later time.

‘What is it, William? You have that haunted look again and I haven’t seen it for a while.'

‘Just how rich is Buffy? That lapis alone would pay my and Tara's ransoms a dozen times over!’

‘Very rich: she is the daughter of one Jarl, niece to another, close cousin to the King. Her dowry is enough to make any woman jealous; if a man were to claim her he would be rich beyond his dreams, rich enough to equal anyone, even Wessex or Mercia.’

Buffy looked at William, she had felt his eyes on her. He was everything that she could have dreamt of, and she knew he loved her for her and not the money she would bring if only he were Norse. She looked at the clothes he had set out on the bed. Since he'd come to her hall he had nothing but second hand clothes, save the shirt she'd given him at midwinter. Perhaps now was a good time to give him her gift. She had been hiding her work, well, Olga's work, for weeks.

‘William, I have something for you,' she said as she braided up her hair and added a fillet of silver to her head. She handed over a soft pack. William opened it up to find a fine set of clothes. New trews, an undershirt of the long Norse style and a fine woollen overshirt, with the finest tablet weave that William had ever seen.

‘A fine set of clothes proper for a Jarls hall. They’re yours, not a loan,’ she smiled. She added a leather belt, finely worked and painted, alien to his eyes but beautiful. She then added a small sheath knife.

‘I know you're not supposed to be armed, but you will need a knife for eating with and I didn't want you to have to ask,’ she added.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered, gently kissing her mouth.

How could he ever have doubted her? He fingered the fine linen and wool: his mother would love such cloth. William hoped that his brothers were looking after her, he missed her soft wisdom and wished that he could talk to her. He went outside and washed his hair in the last of the warm water before he shamed himself with tears. He could see other caravans arriving, the Lawspeaker and the Reeve welcoming in various men to the Thing. Their camp seemed to be the only one with women in it. He hoped they would be safe, then laughed at his own thoughts. Buffy and Faith were raised together, and she had killed 11 men in the last year, and she was related to the Jarl. God help any that stood in her way, and now that Faith had the backing of her family and had food in her stomach she was Buffy's equal. Helga had her husband by her side. They would be safe; now if only he would be…

Buffy and Faith emerged from under the sail cloth roof of their hall. Connor followed close behind. William hurried back in to dress. He missed the feel of a sword on his hip on days like this, but noticed that Connor carried no weapon. In fact the only sharp blade any of them had were eating knives, Connor's hanging from his belt in a fine scabbard and the women's on chains from their brooches. Buffy looked like a queen and she and Faith made an incredible sight, one dark, the other fair, and each as regal as the other.

They made their way across the torchlit grounds to the massive tent in the centre. William felt like a Lord again, a man. Connor treated him far better than any of his brothers ever had, and Buffy had truly stolen his heart.

William and Buffy, Connor and Faith were led to the table closest to the fire, sitting near the Jarl himself. There were hard looks from Hafdan, but others were kinder in their stares. There was a Moor on one of the lower tables, watching them closely: William had never seen a man with such dark skin before. He’d heard about them of course, but here was a man from… somewhere… sitting at the table with them. He couldn’t help but stare. Buffy and Faith were greeting friends right and left. They knew so many of the people here. The men had all stood and all lowered their heads as Buffy approached them, showing the sort of respect the Lady Athelflaed normally received. The Moor took her hand and bowed low over it. He then knelt and raised it to his lips.

‘My dear Lady, I hope all is well with you. Your holdings fare very well.’

‘Robin,’ she smiled down at the man and raised him up to his feet. ‘You must tell me more on the morrow. I think Connor is hoping to visit on the way back to his hall. He wants to remind you that the hall has a mistress,’ she added with a laugh.

‘As if I could ever forget,' Robin spluttered. ‘I have brought the profits for this year for you to spend. I know you love shopping and word is that the moneyer is coming, and a wool merchant, as well as all the normal traders.’

Buffy's eyes lit up at the thought of all that shopping. She smiled up at the Moor and turned to William.

‘William, this my Reeve, Robin, he manages my estates while I look after Connor's. Robin, this is William of Wessex, he is guesting with us for the year.’ The black man gave a deep bow. ‘My lord,' he said with a sneer in his voice.

William gave a small head bow and moved forward to where Jarl Leif was waiting for them.

There was a serf holding a great bowl filled with scented water; dried rose petals floated on the top. Buffy washed her hands, as did Faith. Connor and William followed suit and took their places at the Jarl’s table. There was an older woman sitting on William's left; Buffy had been placed on the Lord's right, at the other side of the table. Connor sat by him on the left, then Faith, him and the woman he didn't know.

Skapti the Lawspeaker stood up and spoke the blessing on the food, then plates and plates of food were brought in. William introduced himself carefully to the woman.

‘My name is Linden,’ she answered. ‘I am skald to the Jarl.’

‘I am William of Wessex, and I'm staying with Connor for the year.’

Linden looked at the young man. ‘Have you seen twenty summers yet?’ she asked.

‘No, I haven't,’ he answered, surprised at her question.

‘The lady Elizabeth is very beautiful, isn't she?’

William looked down the table at Buffy, who was laughing at something Leif had said to her. She reminded him of his mother.

‘Very,’ he answered. She smiled and started tackling the fish on her plate. They had a fair meal placed before them, then the mead horn was passed around. William was already feeling the effects of all the ale and he didn’t want to get drunk so was about to pass when Linden reached across and quietly whispered, ‘It would be considered the height of bad manners to refuse the horn.’

William smiled his thanks as he raised it to his lips and sipped at the nectar it contained. The mead was the best he’d ever tasted. He lifted the horn high in toast to the Jarl and passed it onto Linden. She sipped at it then called for another mug of ale and stood up.

‘A story,’ she said, ‘a story that is guaranteed to get Buffy to do what ever I want!

‘There came a time when Thor woke up and stretched his hand out to reach for his precious hammer, but it was gone. His hammer, Mjollnir, was gone, he couldn’t have lost it, could he? Maybe, he was drunk last night. So he started searching his hall. Now we’ve all seen a man try and look for something, and a God is no different. The chests were opened and tossed. His bed was stripped. It looked like a storm wind had ripped through his hall, but the hammer was nowhere.
‘He had to go and tell Odin, the hammer that protected Asgard from the giants was missing. Thor looked at his horn and took a great swig from it, he would need the courage and made his way to Valhalla, Odin’s Great Hall. Then he had an idea: he’d not gone straight home! He’d gone to Frey’s first. So he went to Frey’s hall and started searching, wrecking his blood-brother’s hall the same way he’d wrecked his own. Frey was not happy to say the least. So Thor left and headed for Valhalla but before he could enter it he met Freya and Frigga: they were walking with Heimdall, keeper of the rainbow bridge and Loki, the mischief maker. They noticed that Thor looked worried and came up to him.
‘What’s the matter, Thor?’
‘I’ve lost my hammer,’ he mumbled.
Loki started laughing, he laughed so much he was rolling around on the floor. It was good that someone else was in trouble and not him.
‘You’ve what?!’ The women exclaimed and started screaming and shouting at Thor who, for all that he stood head and shoulders above the women, hung his head in shame. Odin came from his Hall to see what all the noise was about and Freya shouted to him:
‘This idiot has lost his hammer, we have to do something about it. We have to find it before the Giants find out.’
‘A voice at the great gate sounded out. ‘It’s too late for that.’ It was one of the frost Giants. ‘I have your great hammer, it’s safe and secure so there is no need to get physical.’ As his feet were lifted high off of the ground; Thor’s red beard and face hair twitched with indignation.
‘Give me back my hammer!!’ He yelled straight into the giant’s face.
‘Only if I can marry Freya: that’s my price.’ And he wriggled out from Thor’s grasp and ran off.
Freya started screaming, there was NO WAY she was going to marry a Frost Giant. ‘If you want someone to marry that Giant, you do it, you put on the dress and marry him!’
‘I’m not a woman, I can’t marry a giant.’ Mumbled Thor. But Freya and Frigga were looking at one another and smiling. Loki looked Thor up and down.
‘A nice veil, a dress and borrowing your necklace… we could do it.’
‘He’d notice: I’m two foot taller than Freya and I have a beard!’
‘A veil,’ Loki looked at the beard closely. ‘A thick, a very thick veil,’ he added, laughing.
‘If you’re doing that to me, then you are going to be my maid!’ Thor said, locking Loki’s head in a head lock.’

William looked across at Buffy: her eyes were shining and she was lost in the story.

‘And so it was: three days later Loki and Thor set off in a sleigh to the Ice Giant’s castle. The Ice Giant had watchers looking out for his bride. He couldn’t believe it, he was going to marry Freya, the most beautiful woman in the world.
‘He positioned himself on the High Seat, making sure that the light shone off his warts to the best effect, when the two ‘women’ entered his hall.
‘Well, my Lords, you have never seen such a sight: Loki looked quite sweet, in fact he looked like a woman, much to his discomfort, but Thor looked ridiculous, the dress wrapped well around him, and on his neck he wore Freya’s golden necklace. His face was covered with a thick veil and his hair with a thicker wimple.
‘She seems bigger than I remember,’ the giant spoke and Loki jumped in, ‘we’ve wrapped her up too keep her warm, its just the dresses she has brought as part of her dowry.’
‘Ah,’ said the giant and started whispering sweet nothings to his new bride. Thor got furious, his eyes flashed with fire.
‘Now I know that’s not supposed to happen, her eyes glowing like that: I know that’s not right.’
‘Again Loki jumped up. ‘It’s tiredness, she was so excited about marrying a fine giant like you that she hasn’t slept since you made your kind and generous offer. Her eyes are red from tiredness.’
‘The giant settled again and they started eating. No matter what Loki said to Thor, he packed away the meal like he did any other. He drank enough ale for ten men, enough mead for five men, and enough food was eaten to feed three Kings’ Halls. The giant knew that wasn’t right and started, again, to question. ‘That woman can eat; perhaps I couldn’t feed her enough to keep her.’
‘Loki jumped up again, and pointed out that Freya hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since she’d found out she was getting married, and was just making up for lost time and meals. And then kicked Thor to remind him he was supposed to be in disguise.
‘The giant thought it time for the wedding and went to kiss his bride, but she refused him. She wouldn’t kiss until the hammer had been laid in her lap to confirm that they were married and blessed with fertility. So the giant fetched the great hammer and laid it in Freya’s lap…
‘Immediately Thor had his hammer back he jumped up and killed all the giants, one blow to each head. They lay dead in the hall, then Loki let the fire become wild, burning down the hall around the bodies.
‘Thor and Loki took the sleigh and the hammer and headed home, stripping off the women’s clothes as they went and laughing all the way.’

The men started cheering and laughing at the Skald’s tale. Leif took a ring from his finger. It was silver with a gem in it.

‘A gift for the story,’ he announced and placed it on Linden’s finger. She thanked him and sat back down with William and the talk grew about them, loud and raucous.

‘Buffy always loved that tale as a child. If she and Faith were into mischief all I would have to say was, Have you heard about Thor and his hammer? - and they would be at my feet with their spinning, like little angels desperately trying to be good, to ensure that they got their story.’

‘You have known her long then?’

‘I have known her since her mother brought her into the world. She was a wonderful woman, Joy, and loved her daughter very much; it was hard on Buffy when she died. Her father was a wastrel and an idiot, she gets her bravery and brains from Joy.’

‘And her father?’

‘He was Jarl to the east of here. He kept a good hold, but quickly put another in Joy’s place when she died. Buffy came to live with Leif and she learnt everything she needed to, and a lot we wish she hadn’t… have you ever seen her with a bow?’

William nodded. ‘Yes I have.’

‘Well I warn you, she’s as quick with a knife. I can remember once we lost her and Faith, we couldn’t find them anywhere. It was the middle of summer and the evening meal was to be served, but the sun was still high in the sky. We searched everywhere and found them swimming in one of the lakes, they had built a steam lodge and were jumping in the cold water. I had to get them dressed and back to the house with none of the men seeing them.’

‘What are you talking about Linden? Not baby stories, please!’
‘As if I would! But I might tell the story about you trying to bring a bear cub home as a pet - or was that Faith?’ Both women went bright red and deliberately turned their backs on the Skald.

William laughed out loud, both at the thought of Buffy and Faith in trouble and at the faces there were pulling at the skald.

‘Why are you talking to me?’ William asked. He was puzzled. In his father’s, no his brother’s hall, an outsider would have been sat at a low table, if let in at all, and certainly wouldn’t be chatted to as though he were an equal.

‘I know who and what you are, William of Wessex. I also know something of the path you will be following with your life. I know the followers of the White Christ don’t believe in such things but there are those that can see some of the threads that wyrd weaves. You will always know a welcome at this table William, you and your sons.’

Sons!! William had never seen himself as one who would marry, not until he had met Buffy, and she would, could, never be his wife. Their worlds were far too far apart.

Faith and Buffy rose to their feet.

‘We will leave you to your drinking, gentlemen, we have some serious shopping to do tomorrow and need our rest.’

Linden also rose ready to leave but whispered to William, ‘Go drink for drink with all others, and if you become stupid with it don’t worry, just don’t get into any fights. They won’t be allowed to insult you too much, and if they do - threaten them with me.’ She also bowed her head to Jarl Leif and made her way out of the tent.

‘Buffy,’ she called, ‘a word?’ Faith also stopped. ‘No not you Faith, I need to speak to Buffy alone.’ Faith nodded and went off. The Skald was not one you argued with.

‘Buffy, I want you to know. All manner of things will be well. Keep faith with your heart. It will not let you down.’

She looked long and hard at Buffy. ‘Your path is hard, but there is so much happiness at the end of it; be strong Buffy, the future is golden, child: golden.’

William knew he was alive. He had to be: if he were dead his head wouldn’t hurt quite so much. It felt like someone was driving nails into it and they weren’t doing it gently either; they must be using an enormous hammer. The sun through the open door of the booth burnt his eyes and every small noise echoed through his skull. Connor looked no better. They had staggered home late into the night and collapsed onto the benches, pulling their cloaks around them and slept the sleep of the truly drunk. But it had been worth it. They had talked all night and he had been treated well, not as an equal, that wasn’t to be expected, but his poetry had been cheered and his singing toasted with the horn that had gone round. Leif and Skapti had really enjoyed him speaking part of Beowulf, in fact they had asked for the next part at the feast the following night. William had spent one of the most enjoyable nights he’d ever had, except the ones he spent with Buffy of course, in the company of men who were supposed to be his enemies. However, this morning William knew even moving was a mistake.

Buffy looked at both Connor and William. They looked dreadful, their eyes were rimmed in red and their skin was white. William was actually shaking. If he’d been in a monastery for a few years and then with her people, she supposed that it was the first time he’d drunk his fill in quite a long time. He would be suffering, but they would have to be up shortly as the Thing was due to start at noon, and Connor was supposed to be there to speak. She made pine needle tea for them both and left it to steep as she looked for the breakfast Xander had prepared. Two plates of food were being kept warm by the low fire.

Picking them up she noticed that William’s eyes were on her; she gave a half smile and showed him the food. William took one look at the bacon and eggs that were on the plate and ran for the door. Just the smell made him feel unwell and anyway he needed the midden.

Buffy made her way over to where Connor was still asleep and gently shook his shoulder.

‘Connor, time to wake up,’ she spoke quietly. Although a part of her playful nature wanted to make a loud noise, she would not be so bad mannered as to disturb the Thing, or show up Connor in front of the other man gathered.

‘Evil step mother…’

‘Well my Lord Connor, you have a meeting to attend to, and I thought you might like to actually eat before you went before the Thing.’ She presented him with a plate of bacon with eggs and he looked at it suspiciously.

‘Did you cook? Am I being poisoned?’ But he accepted both that and the tea gladly.

‘No you’re not being poisoned, and Xander cooked. Now hurry up, we left you for as long as we could.’

William came back into the booth and smiled at Buffy, at least it was meant to be a smile, but with his head still hurting it was more of a grimace. He also accepted the plate and mug from Buffy, sipping warily at the unfamiliar tea. It tasted fresh and helped clear his head and mouth.

Faith watched quietly as both men dressed. She would have to attend with them, but that would be later. The business for today was minor land arguments and petty stuff. It allowed latecomers to still hear the important decisions. The main business would start in the morning.

Connor strapped on his sword and picked up his cloak. William wrapped his cloak around him and gratefully drank the tea that Buffy had brought him. He grabbed the bacon in bread that was waiting and he and Connor headed across the grounds towards the area that had been set aside. Skapti, Hafdan and Leif were also cursing the sun this morning. They, too, had swords strapped to their hips. And they greeted Connor and William as they walked towards where all the men were gathered.

Xander and Olaf were walking up from the direction of the market, having had a look around. Their arms were full of pale red linen. Their smiles were wide as they showed off their purchases to Connor. They had broken their fast just after sun-up and had hurried off to look around the opening market before they collected the hungover souls and headed off for the Thing.

‘Pale red,’ William asked. ‘It’s a colour my mother would wear.’

‘I’d hate to face your mother then, it’s a warrior’s colour, blue for girls and red for boys,’ Xander explained. ‘We got this before Buffy and the others got to the merchant’s stall and cleaned him out. He’s got some wonderful English woollens as well. I bet Buffy and the girls will find them soon enough,’ he added laughing.

Olaf took the linen off of Xander and made his way back to the booth. He had been volunteered to escort the ladies around the market. It took a brave man to carry the purse for Buffy, but he was up to the job. He did feel that it was a slight punishment for not having a hangover, but as purse carrier at least he could stay armed.


Connor and his men made their way into a large open clearing. It was a huge space, semi circular in shape with a stone big enough for three men to stand on comfortably set in the centre of the straight side. The crowd was gathering already, men from all over, maybe a hundred or so of them, all armed and all talking at once. They looked dangerous. William was no coward but he made sure that he stayed close to Connor.

Skapti hopped up onto a stone that was about knee high and signalled the horn blowers to call the Thing to order. All the men turned to face him and when the noise settled he started to speak.

‘I call this Thing to order:
‘All are under the peace of the Thing.
‘If a man argues with another it shall be as if he hit the man,
‘If he hits a man, it shall be as if he struck him;
‘If he strikes a man it shall be as if he cut a man,
‘If he causes blood to flow it should be as if he seriously injured him.
‘If he injures him it shall be as if he killed a man,
‘And if a man kills another it shall be counted as murder and he will be dealt with accordingly.

‘Peace knot your swords.’ He ordered.

Connor and Xander, in fact all the men tied cords around the hilt of their swords, tying them securely into their scabbards. Leif and Hafdan then joined Skapti on the speaking stone and looked around.

‘First to speak?’ Leif asked. A man stepped forward.

‘I wish to speak,’ he called.

‘We will hear Thorbjorn of Snelsetter talk.’

‘I have a problem with my neighbour Sven.’ He shot a dark look at another man who shot an equally black look back.

‘Five cows have gone missing, and I know they are on his farm, I have seen them, and he refuses to give them back.’

‘And what do you say Sven?’ Skapti asked.

‘They are my cows, I bought them from him last summer and paid for them with good silver.’

‘No you didn’t! There was no agreement to sell, no agreement to buy and no silver changed hands!’

‘I gave Hal, your man, 6 silver pennies for those cows, good milk cows in calf.’

‘I didn’t get anything, no silver, nothing and I wouldn’t have sold those cows anyway. They were my best.’

William leaned towards Connor. ‘Do you not have a kings witness who oversees such agreements?’

‘What’s one of those?’ Connor asked, keeping his voice low so he didn’t disturb the people around him.

‘A man who witnesses all agreements so there are no arguments. Otherwise how do you know which man is in the right?’

‘The strongest one, or the one who argues his case the best will win.’ Connor explained. ‘We have no place for fools who can’t argue their own case, or lose the support of their own men. And these two always find something to argue about, last year it was the ownership of some woodland, this year it’s cows, who knows what they’ll invent for next year?’

‘Why do you listen to them, then?’

‘Because it ensures they don’t come to blows: they are related to powerful families, and if they dragged their kin into the battle, we’d have bloodshed and war.’

‘Skapti controls them,’ Xander added. ‘He will bargain with them and give one man or the other what he wants. He speaks the law. For the last three years Sven has been shown to be a liar. His words are holding less and less weight. And the trick of making his man do the deal so that he can deny it is an old one.’

It wasn’t long before William watched as Sven’s words were pulled to pieces by Thorbjorn. And the matter was decided in favour of the man from Snelsetter.

William watched with fascination as case after case was heard. The men were intelligent and quick witted, and big. It suddenly struck him how tall the men around him were. At near 5 foot 9 he had been thought tall by his people, but these Norsemen all towered over him. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but here he was short.

There was a noise and disturbance to one side and a small dirty-looking woman shoved her way to the front. ‘I would speak next!’ her nasally voice sounded harsh and coarse to William’s ears.

‘Maggie of the Welsh, we know of your case,’ Skapti started, ‘and we will hear it tomorrow, when all Thing members are here.’

‘All the important ones are here now, and I demand to be heard.’


‘Maggie, have you family with you, to talk for you?’

‘I have family,’ she glared at some people standing over to one side, ‘but they’re all cowards and idiots.’

William looked over at the group she’d pointed out. They seemed embarrassed by the attention and there weren’t as many of them as there were in Connor’s party. Connor’s seemed better armed and armoured, their clothes seemed richer and better made. It was obvious where the power was held.

‘And what’s he doing here,’ she continued her rant, ‘he’s a stranger to us all, and a slave, he carries no blade.’

Connor spoke up ‘This is William of Wessex, he stays at my hall until his ransom is paid, and he’s here because he helped man the pale the day your son came calling.’

At that Maggie started howling and wailing.

‘My baby boy, you murdered my baby boy!’’ One of the men from the group she had pointed to came across and tried to talk to her.

‘Come on Maggie, you know the truth of it, leave this be.’

‘Gram you are a coward now and you always will be, if we don’t fight for our rights, who will?’ she said, shaking off the hand on her arm.


‘Murder is a serious charge Maggie, are you sure that’s what you want to call it?’ Skapti asked.

‘Yes I do. They killed him with no warning, he only went to see his children!’

‘Is that so Connor?’ Skapti asked, but the smile on his face told William that he was just going through the formalities of the Thing.

‘Well he turned up, at night with no warning, and tried to set fire to my hall. Then we realised who it was. Bjorn, who had been declared wolf’s head last year. He was disturbing the peace of my hall, so after he sent an arrow to us, we shot him and his men. We stripped the bodies and brought the proof to the Thing.’

‘That seems fair to me. Is there any that would speak against Connor’s actions?’

No one spoke up, in fact looking around the men gathered, all William could see were smiles and grins.

‘Will no one speak for my son?’ Maggie yelled. ‘Well if you won’t I will,’ she grabbed her eating knife and lunged at Connor. William was the closer and put himself between the wildly swinging knife and Connor.

Maggie looked mad, completely insane: she lunged again, cutting William above the left eye. Xander managed to grab her arm and twisted it, making Maggie release the knife.

Leif and Hafdan leapt down from the stone and men were running towards them. William couldn’t see properly, the blood was dripping into his eye, blinding him on that side. He felt someone pull him back from the action and guide him towards the stone, making him sit down.

He tried to look around, glimpsing shapes through the red haze. He could just make out Xander kneeling on Maggie’s back, holding both her arms behind her. Leif signalled a couple of his own guards to take the woman and bind her: they were far from gentle. When she started wailing again it was obvious that her mind was completely gone. She sounded like a wounded animal.

‘She will never survive on her own,’ the jarl said quietly, ‘but she has broken the peace of the Thing and must be dealt with. The family will have to pay were-geld.’

Maggie’s family were running around, desperate to distance themselves from her actions. Her stupidity could cause them all to be outlawed and her cousin was terrified. He should have killed the stupid bitch years ago, he thought ruefully.

The man, Gram, made his way over towards Connor. Xander came over to William and was attending to his cut. The blood flow was slowing, but it looked like the man would carry a scar for the rest of his life. Scarred at the Thing: it would be a high were-geld, if they were allowed to pay. Gods, he hoped so. Gram held his hands open and clear of his body, showing that he meant no harm.

‘We will deal with her…’

‘Yes you will,’ growled Leif and Skapti together. Skapti stood again as Lawspeaker.

‘Your family have broken the peace of the Thing, and you will pay. There will be were-geld to Connor for the harm that came to a man of his hall; you WILL take that woman far away from here. I will set the were geld at 5 golden marks, which will be paid to Connor and next year you will give half a tithe of your excess to Jarl Leif, and that’s over and above your normal tithe for breaking the peace of the Thing. And you had better show friendship to Connor’s Hall. He took in Faith, his cousin and her children and protected them against those who were wolf’s head. Friendship and goodwill would go quite a way towards wiping out the stain on your family.’

Gram looked shaken, it was a huge fine, but his family were in many ways lucky. They were not being outlawed, they were not being denied the protection of their Lord, they were being allowed to make amends. The threat of what would happen if there were to be another incident was left unspoken, but Gram wasn’t stupid.

Faith and Buffy were in the market looking at the spice stall when the first rumours hit that there had been blood spilt at the Thing. Rumour also had it that someone from Connor’s hall had been killed. Buffy went white: she dropped the cinnamon she had been looking at and turned and ran towards the meeting ground, her feet flying over the mud and stones. Faith followed quickly behind; Helga followed at a more sedate pace, but was as worried as the two women in front of her. She had ensured that the servants they had taken shopping with them would collect all their purchases and get them back to the booth. Olaf followed on making sure that all their money and goods were safe.

The sight that greeted them was reasonable calm. Buffy and Faith hurried over to Connor and William, they were talking quietly with Leif. Faith gasped when she saw Maggie tied and held captive by the Jarl’s guards but she was more worried about her blood kin. Xander looked unharmed, angry but all right. Connor was standing with his back to her, but when William looked up she saw the blood on his face and Buffy felt the tears well up.

She knelt at his feet, looking up into his wonderful blue eyes. Her fingers reached out and traced the rest of his face from his soft curls to the chiselled chin. Then she reached out gently and brushed her finger against the cut. It was deep and through his eyebrow; the blood marred his face but the cut would heal. Buffy wrapped her arms around William and held on tight. Hafdan and Robin both turned away. Any dreams they had of having Buffy for their own were over, killed by the way she looked at the Saxon. William buried his head in her hair and breathed in the scent. It calmed him quicker than any drug.

The Thing had been dismissed for the day and Gram had taken Maggie away in fetters. The family were still terrified that action would be taken against them, and were trying to get the gold together to pay the blood price. 5 gold marks. Profit for a whole year: they weren’t as wealthy or successful as Connor’s hall and it would bite deep into their savings. Five marks of gold, or sixty marks of silver, that was the equivalent of six pounds of silver in weight, nearly the same a the ransom for a nobleman.

Connor looked at William. The saxon had become more than a hostage in the five months he had been with them, and now he earned his ransom, near enough, in gold, just by saving Connor from a nasty injury. Connor thought about the money.

‘William,’ he called.

William looked round. Buffy had been leading him back to their booth, having sent Faith off for the healer, and was in no mood for nonsense. Before William could speak she said, ‘Whatever it is, it can wait ‘til we get him sat down and attended to.’

Connor nodded. With all the blood it was hard to see if his eye had been affected. He hoped not.

The inside of the booth was warm from where the fire had been kept in all day, the front awning thrown back to allow light into the room. Buffy sat William down on the edge of a pallet and went and collected a small soapstone bowl. She filled it with sour wine and put it to the fire to heat. She then collected together good clean linen and honey.

By the time the wine was heated a healer had appeared. A woman of advanced years, from the whiteness of her hair, she was accompanied by a slave who carried a basket with him.

‘Aldis, you are welcome.’ Buffy stood up and curtsied to the woman as she came in.

‘Buffy my dear, it has been too long, but we will sit and talk later. I have to see Maggie after this: her family need her sedated.’

‘Good.’ Buffy’s voice was hard, and fierce, then she looked at William.

‘Aldis, this is William, he was injured protecting Connor from Maggie. Could you check out his eye, please?’

The woman approached William, who looked up into sparkling blue eyes that had a twinkle in them. She poked and prodded his face and eye, causing the wound to bleed again.

‘He’ll be fine. Wash it well and a good honey dressing to stop the wound from festering. I will put a couple of stitches in it to prevent it opening more.’ She signalled to Connor and Xander who were waiting outside to come in and grab William, but Buffy put her hand up. ‘I will stop him moving…’

They had been talking too quickly for William and Aldis’ accent was strange. ‘What is she going to do?’ He asked, a little fearfully.

‘She needs to sew up the wound. It will take but a minute. You have a choice. You mustn’t move, but either Xander and Connor can hold you down or I can hold your hand. Which would you prefer?’ She asked softly.

William didn’t answer, he put his hand gently in Buffy’s and tilted his head so that Aldis could easily reach the wound as it was lighted from the sun streaming in at the doorway.
She got out a fine needle threaded with some sort of gut and cleaned it in the sour wine that was heating on the fire. Then she started sewing. William winced, on top of his hangover the pain from the needle entering his flesh was intense, but nothing that he couldn’t handle with Buffy looking at him with her amazing green eyes. The love that shone from them made him invulnerable to anything the witch could do to him. She seemed to be stabbing him with a spear not a needle, but he tolerated her actions. Buffy trusted this Aldis and he trusted Buffy. He had to: she was his world.

It was the work of moments to bring the edges of the wound together and put the three stitches in. Aldis sat back and studied her handiwork.

‘That will be fine. Just cover it in honey for three days and then cut the stitches out in five. The wound may open a little after that but it’s better to get the gut out before the skin grows around it. Willow-bark tea if he has a headache, but not too much, and not too much beer or mead today either, they make the blood flow more freely.’

Buffy nodded her acceptance of the instructions and went to the bag hanging over her bed. She brought out a length of the dark red silk they had brought with them to sell and handed it to Aldis.

‘A gift for your time and trouble.’

‘A great gift, Lady Elizabeth,’ Aldis bowed. She was heading out of the booth with her slave in tow when she turned and looked at Buffy. ‘All things will be well child, and your mother would be proud of you. Your father however, would be scared - and that would be good as well.’

‘She never did like my father,’ Buffy laughed as she watched the woman head towards Gram’s camp and the trouble that was there.

William was tenderly touching the wound. It felt strange having gut to keep the edges of the wound together. He watched as Buffy poured a little honey onto a pad of linen and bandaged it in place on his head. He hadn’t caught one word in four of what the woman was saying to him, but Buffy appeared to be listening.

‘You’re to keep a honey dressing on it for three days, then we will take the stitches out in five,’ she repeated the healer’s instructions.

‘Why did you give her the silk? It was worth far more than her fee for her work.’ William was curious.

‘I didn’t pay the healer for her work, you just don’t, she does it because she has to, it’s her calling, but you can give her a gift. The greater the gift, the more you value what she has done and the higher status your hall is. A penny from a peasant may be worth more in her eyes than that silk from me, but silk from us for the care she gave you will reinforce how high our hall is in the eyes of others. Aldis is a great healer, she treats many who can’t afford to give her a gift; she teaches all who ask. She taught Willow her craft.’ Buffy explained as she put away the pots they had been using. The stone one fascinated William. He had never seen anything quite like it.

Buffy saw his interest and handed him the pot.

‘It’s soapstone, when it’s fresh from the ground it’s easy to carve, but when it’s been in the fire it goes hard.’ She explained.

‘I have heard of it: they sell it at some of the markets at home, but I have never seen it before.’

‘You should tell Connor about the market for it, we are always looking for somewhere new to sell our goods, and for new goods to trade. Talking of which, I want to go shopping, and so does Faith.’

Buffy exited the booth to see Gram talking quietly with Faith and Connor. Skapti was standing off to one side, listening in but not saying anything. She and William made their way quietly across, and joined the group.

Skapti looked up at William. ‘A fine wound there. Has Aldis seen it?’

William grimaced. ‘Yes, and sewn it up.’

‘She says it will be fine.’ Buffy added.

‘Well that’s some good news then. I was just telling Faith that Maggie is to go east to family in Vaster-Gotland. Gram has said he will take her, and she will never be allowed back.’

Faith looked relieved. ‘It has been hard the last couple of years. I think her mind has been going for a while, and her son didn’t help matters. He was never there to see the damage his mother was doing.’

‘Well it’s over now.’

Connor looked at Faith. ‘I will give you one quarter of the gold we get, for you to use getting the hall back on its feet.’

Faith looked relieved at that: she had to keep the hall for her son, it was his inheritance.

‘I’m going to need male help as well,’ she added.

‘I can help there.’ Buffy spoke up. ‘My man, Robin, he has cared for my estates since my mother died. His deputy can keep running my land for a while and I will ask Robin if he will go with you and help you get the place working again.’

Faith nodded her acceptance and Skapti nodded.
‘It’s good to see a family working together to keep itself strong.’ He looked deliberately at Gram.

‘I have a woodsman who is hoping to set up on his own,’ Gram suggested. ‘He could go with you as well and supervise the repairs you say are needed. After all, your children are my cousins…’

‘Excellent. Faith’s hall will be made stronger for the help she gets, you both will have a neighbour who owes you favours and all will see that the bad blood has only come from a mad woman who will be taken well care of.’ The law speaker bowed his head and moved off. Gram went over to Connor.

‘Five marks of gold is a huge amount, we don’t have it here at the Thing. I only brought enough for our needs. It may take me some time to get it together.’

Connor looked at Gram with hard narrow eyes. ‘By midsummer, could you have it then?’

Gram nodded. ‘Do you want it in gold, silver or trade goods? My second cousin is due in from Rus with furs and silks from the Silk Road. I have heard he has sable rugs with him, at least he was hoping to.’

Buffy tugged hard at Connor’s arm and pulled him away from the main talking area.

‘Sable rug! I would love one, they are worth a fortune. If we are sweet to Gram now, his cousin could be a useful contact in the future. Think about it, silk at a cheap rate, we would make five times the amount we’re owed just selling that in Jorvik’

‘You sound like Anya,’ he laughed.

‘Well maybe some of her good sense is rubbing off on me.’

Connor went back to Gram.

‘My mother here has a fancy for a large sable throw for her sleeping area, and I know where I could sell good silk at a profit. Rather than gold, perhaps we could deal in a more appropriate way?’ he suggested.


‘The finest sable will be yours as soon as it arrives. And then you and I will sit down and talk about business.’ Gram spat into his hand and held it out to Connor, who copied the action and the deal was made.

William turned his head away. Five marks, the cost of Harmony near enough, and a fur throw was worth more to these people. He tried to shrug it off but couldn’t.

Buffy saw from the way he held his body that something was obviously wrong. ‘William, are you in pain?’ She asked him.

‘No,’ he snapped.

‘Then what is it? Something is obviously wrong and you’re angry; don’t you like the idea of the money helping Faith get her Hall back up and running?’

‘It’s not that, it’s all that money for such a small cut, and it would have been enough to buy Harmony free: she was raped by a friend of Connor’s and sold off to some other ship and I couldn’t protect her.’

‘And now, if that happened?’

‘I think I would have knocked her out before her mouth dug my grave as well as her own.’

‘That’s a fair comment. We don’t weave another man’s or woman’s wyrd. That was her path. If she’d stayed in Northumbria, what would have happened?’

‘Well, if she’d been as stupid as she was on the boat her father would have killed her himself.’

‘And this way?’

‘She lives longer. But all that money for this?’ He pointed at the cut on his face.

‘And for breaking the peace of the Thing, and for generally not controlling his own family, and for allowing Maggie to call it murder when it was obvious it wasn’t. Now come on,’ Buffy said, dragging him to the market, ‘I’ve got shopping to do.’

Faith was hurrying up behind them dragging Connor with her. ‘I have the promise of money and I need cloth by the ell and bolt to restock my hall. Come on!’

William had to laugh to see her smiling so much. The bruises had faded, the only thing left to remind them of the hard time the woman had had was her arm in a sling, but she was going shopping.

The market was big, as big as any he’d ever seen. Stalls filled with all sorts of amazing things: cloth, weaponry, spices, dyes, wine, foods that he’d only ever seen on he King’s table. A silversmith was making silver amulets, hammers and crosses, melting the sliver on a small forge at the back of his stand. The bustle was addictive, the shouts and cries of the vendors stealing his attention this way and that. There were animals for sale: chickens, goats, even a couple of cows. Horses and oxen were off to one side.
The ground was turning to mud beneath the feet of the crowds but someone had laid heather and ferns down thickly in the worst places, marking the paths with dried leaves.
The women were looking at everything as they made their way down the alleys between the stands.

Connor was pulled up short by the armourers stall, the lure of the steel being too much for him to pass by; William went over to him and the two men were joined in their mutual love of bright shiny weapons. There were fine knife blades and spear heads, arrow points, shield bosses and a wonderful sword with the herringbone signature of a pattern welded blade. William looked at the intricate blade. It was the profit from a huge estate for half a year for a blade like that. There was mail as well. Finely worked chain mail, a year’s money for the estate he grew up on. The smith was skilled.

Connor and William were still discussing the different weapons when they realised the women were missing. Uninterested in weaponry they had moved onto the silversmith and were looking through his beads and jewellery. Connor and William caught up with them as Buffy was haggling for a fine set of green glass beads. She had already stacked up in front of her three beautifully worked glass goblets. William had never seen their like. They were amazing. He had seen glass, worked from roman deposits into beads and the like, but these goblets were drinking vessels, with stands to hold them while the hands were busy.

Buffy had also set aside some lovely finely worked arm rings and a necklace, as well as horn tops and scabbard fittings. She was spending a fortune and all Connor did was smile.

‘If my mother or sister bought that much my brother would be having a fit; you are awfully calm about this.’ William commented to Connor.

‘It’s not my money, she’s spending nothing but her own at the moment, profit from her summer. When she starts on my purse, believe me I will be a lot less understanding about the amount of goods on the bench.’ He laughed.

William smiled: even the thought of a woman in charge of her own money seemed strange to him. Buffy appeared pleased with the deal on offer and called Connor over. He removed a leather purse from underneath his overtunic and handed it across to Buffy, who quickly dived in and started stacking up hacksilver on the bench in front of the grizzled man in front of her. They argued for a few minutes, then Buffy added a couple more small pieces of silver to the pile in front of her. The man carefully weighed it on a set of balances. Buffy pulled out a set of her own weights and balances and the whole lot was measured again. They weighed the same in both sets of scales. It was a fortune to William’s eyes. The man spat in his hand, as did Buffy and the deal was sealed.

‘Why did Buffy weigh the silver again?’ William asked Connor quietly. They watched Faith for a few moments as she looked through the charms and jewels. Buffy put a piece of worked amber quietly onto the table and without argument handed over two penny-weights of silver. The man nodded, and hid the amber in her purchases.

‘She was checking his weights, making sure they were true. There have been cases of light weight before and she was just being careful,’ Connor answered.

The glass goblets were wrapped in fleece and then pieces of woollen cloth before being slipped into wooden cases, securely tied and put with the rest of the purchases which had been placed in a bag for the Lady Buffy.

Buffy grabbed a nearby runner, a youth who had a handcart and was walking up and down the market These boys were all over the market, earning extra by carrying goods. ‘Half a silver penny and a meal if you run just for me,’ Buffy said. The boy nodded and made a grab for the boxes but Buffy stopped him.

‘No, not that, you’ve got the bag. Next stop: spice stall.’

He loaded the bag onto his cart and Buffy placed the boxes in there as well, ensuring they couldn’t move. The boy then followed Buffy through the crowd.

‘What if he runs off with her goods?’ William asked.

‘He’s stupid. Where would he run to? And if he was caught he would be made a real example of. Better to earn the money and get fed and do as the lady asks. Buffy will be finished before dusk, he might work for three or four people in one day. He makes good money.’

They went past a pole-lather, busy making turned wooden cups and selling them from a small table by his side. There were fancy benches and tables for sale as well as small items: bowls, spoons and toys for children.

When they got to the spice stall, Buffy feigned interest. She sniffed at the different spices on offer, but from the set of her shoulders wasn’t impressed by what she saw. The haggling here took longer, if possible. Buffy didn’t like the quality of the saffron on offer and refused to buy anything.

‘Smells musty and old,’ she whispered to Faith, who nodded and led the way to a small stall near the back of the market.

There the spices were fresh and beautiful. Cinnamon, galingale, ginger, and other exotic and expensive spices were bought by the pound. Then the spice merchant called over a guard. He brought with him a small chest, which was unlocked in front of both women. There was black pepper. Enough to fund a small war, William thought to himself.
Buffy and Faith were enquiring the price of a quarter pound of the most rare spice.

It would be a full pound of silver for one quarter of a pound of pepper. Connor put his hand over Buffy’s and shook his head before the deal was struck.

He moved them away from listening ears and whispered, ‘Dunmail can get it to us more cheaply and fresher, he’s coming in from the Caliphates next season. I brought enough back to last us.’

Buffy nodded and thanked the man for his time, bought what she’d already chosen but left the pepper on the stall. She’d wait for the good stuff from Dunmail. The boy loaded the precious spices aboard his cart and they headed off again at a fast pace; Faith however stayed and looked with longing at the ginger. She loved ginger cakes but the spice boxes, like everything else in her old hall, were run nearly bare.

Connor turned back to her. ‘I’ll give you some before you go: you can repay me next year in salt.’ Faith smiled her thanks. She didn’t feel like it was charity and salt she could afford if she had to dry it from the sea herself.

The crowds were getting bigger if anything. William trailed after Buffy and Faith. There was a shout from one side and a child of no more than ten was held up by the scruff of the neck by one huge warrior.

‘Damn pick pocket!’ he cried and shook the lad until he cried out. A couple of the Jarl’s men made their way over and took the boy away and applied a good beating to him.

‘Something else for the Jarl to deal with: only hope it’s the lad’s first time. It’ll be a branding or hand removed if it isn’t. No time for thieves, has Leif.’ Connor noted to William, then hurried to catch up with the women again. At least the way the Norse dealt with thieves was familiar to William.

They found the women by a heaving mass of humanity. The stall held linens from Ireland and wools from his homeland. They brought an ache to his heart to see herringbone twill as his mother had woven it. There were fine ten-heddle patterns, exquisite in their complexity.

The woollen stall was crowded with women pushing and shoving each other out of the way, trying to get served. There seemed to be three or four men all trying to serve different people, measuring and cutting fabric, folding it and taking the money.
.
William looked in horror at the pile of bodies and wondered how on earth Buffy and Faith were going to make it to the front. And how many the pair of them would kill to do so.

Buffy smiled at the heaving mass and signalled to Faith. They made their way around the side and went up to the man who was standing there watching the heaving mass with a smile on his face. Buffy put her arms around him and hugged him hard. William felt a little jealous but Connor just grinned.

‘Brokk, you saved me the good stuff?’

The man squealed like a woman and hugged Buffy back, opening his arms to envelop Faith in the hug as well.

‘Girl you look great, I have got some wonderful stuff for you,’ he sounded more woman than man and walked with a woman’s step. He left his men serving at the stall and took Buffy and Faith around to a wagon pulled up nearby. He pulled back the cover to reveal bolt after bolt of wonderful, richly dyed, finely woven cloth.

Connor looked at William. ‘Now THIS IS going to cost me a fortune,’ he grinned.

Buffy had dived into the wagon so far that her feet were actually off the ground. William went to help her back onto her feet, but instead she wiggled and dug herself deeper in. She looked like she was swimming. Faith, hampered by her arm, was trying to climb up as well. Connor and William got a sight of Buffy’s legs as she fell completely into the cart. Brokk just laughed, as did Connor; even William forgot his manners for a moment to enjoy not only the view of Buffy’s bare legs but the sight of her squirming to try to right herself. Faith started swearing softly as she struggled to get up and examine the wonderful fabric. William made his way over and lifted her up onto the wagon seat before helping Buffy regain her dignity. But Buffy was happy. She pulled out a bolt of teal green thick fabric, richly double dyed, and set it aside. Then there was white and red patterned fabric: William knew enough to know that was months of work for a master weaver. Buffy simply put it aside onto the green. She then added two bolts of plain undyed linen and one of deep blue. There was some silk but Buffy put it aside: she had plenty at home. She did grab a diamond weave woven in the grease. She wanted some spare to make Faith a new cloak. The pile in the cart was huge. She grinned at Brokk.

‘How much?’

He looked at the pile of fabric: six bolts of cloth. He looked at Buffy and the grin on her face.

‘Half a pound of silver.’

Buffy burst out laughing, she loved a man with a sense of humour. ‘I will give you five silver pennies and no more.’

Brokk grinned back at her. They sat on the edge of his wagon and started haggling. Brokk knew what the cloth was worth: about a tenth of what he had asked for. 14 silver pennies was more than enough but he enjoyed bartering with Buffy.

‘60 silver pennies and not a fourthling less.’

Buffy looked at his cart full of material. ‘Fair price,’ she said, ‘for the lot,’ pointing at the wagon.

Brokk frowned. Buffy jumped to her feet and pulled out a couple of bolts of undyed, heavy linen. ‘Add this to the pile and I’ll give you ten silver pennies.’

‘Thirty.’

‘Twelve!’

‘Twenty eight…’

‘Fourteen?’

They continued arguing, with Buffy adding to the pile. Thick, rough-woven woollen cloth and another of finer wool.

Connor knew what she was doing, stocking up her sister with the basics she would need to refurbish her hall. Faith had told her that Maggie had taken down the loom because it was in the way. She hadn’t even plucked the sheep the year before.

Faith looked at her foster sister, she knew what Buffy was doing as well: she would owe her big time. But give her five years and that hall would be making more than enough money. There were animals for trapping, furs worth chasing, timber for cutting, fish for the taking and she knew where the honey trees were. All it needed was a firm hand and now she had the keys, that hand was on its way.

William and Connor followed Buffy and Faith through the market. She found some sweetmeats and bought enough for everyone; live chickens in a basket were added to the ever-growing pile.

It was a tired party that arrived back at the booth. Buffy paid the lad his half penny for his work and Xander handed him a plate of thick stew, with fresh bread on the other side.
The boy sat and wolfed the food down, then thanked Buffy before leaving with his now empty cart.

Buffy was up late the next morning. She and William had shared the bench at the jarls table, listening to the music and the stories. Leif had given William a ring from his finger for telling Beowulf to the appreciative crowd and Buffy had loved the way the low timbre of his voice seemed to caress her skin. There had been dancing as well, the warriors taking their turns to escort the ladies present in fast round dances. Buffy hadn’t sat a single one out. But her favourite was when she had William’s hand for a more sedate slow dance and their bodies shadowed one another. It was very late, or should that be early morning, by the time the little party made their way back to the Booth. Leif had offered them a pallet for the night but Buffy wanted her own bed.

She and William slipped beneath the covers. The linen was chilly against William’s skin and he pulled himself closer to Buffy’s warmth. Pulling the woollen blankets over the pair of them he wrapped them both in the protective cocoon of their sleeping area. She responded to his touch with a little tremor. William knew that sign. It meant his lady wanted him: it had been days since they had last made love. The travelling and the Thing had dampened any ardour they may have been feeling.

But not tonight. William could feel Buffy’s hand tracing a pattern up his arm and across his chest. She stopped at a nipple and rubbed her thumb across it. It made him even harder, if that were at all possible. He shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. Buffy used her nails from her right hands to slowly and softly scratch her way down his body. His cock was already so hard, he drew in a ragged breath as her fingers skimmed his manhood, her thumb rubbing the few drops of pre-cum over the head. He felt her other hand follow the line of his hip and circle around his buttocks. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He pushed Buffy onto her back and started to nibble and kiss her down her neck and along her collarbone. He could feel her shudder and tremble under him; with his hand he felt down to that secret, most womanly of places and rubbed her clit bringing her up to her first release. He could hear her moans and whimpers as she neared her orgasm. Her body shivered from just his touch; her nipples were as hard as pebbles. He licked and tasted one as his free hand rubbed the other, while his fingers pushed their way into her body. She was so tight and wet for him: he loved the way her body seemed to draw him in deeper and deeper. He could feel her juices release as she reached her first juddering completion.

Now he could be a little selfish, she had had her first release. He rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him. Buffy felt his hard thigh push between her legs, rubbing her clit with every move. Buffy rode his leg, pushing harder and harder against him; she spread her legs wider and lifted them across both of his thighs, so she was straddling him. She could feel his engorged cock pressing against her stomach. A fleeting thought crossed her mind, and she hoped William wouldn’t be too upset by her taking control. She leant her whole body forward, her breasts rubbing his chest, William felt like every inch of his skin was on fire, his breath coming in short sharp pants. She pushed forward, further up his body until she could feel the swollen tip of his wonderful, thick, long cock at her entrance. Buffy slid back, taking the whole of him inside her.

William gasped, this was one of the forbidden positions but it was wonderful. He kissed Buffy on the lips, deep and longingly, his tongue begging for entrance into her hot, welcoming mouth. He could hear the moan escaping from his body as her felt her muscles stroking him; he lifted his hips, shoving deeply into her body. He could feel his tip brush her womb with each stroke, her body grasping at his as though it were an iron hand in a velvet glove. They fitted together perfectly. Buffy was making the most wonderful whimpering sounds with every movement of his body. They soon set a rhythm that left them breathless and desperate for each other. He could feel his climax coming; Buffy felt him swell and stiffen, then felt that wonderful hard stroke that meant he had shot his seed deeply inside her. It was almost better than orgasming herself, when she knew that she had brought him to completion. His cry was swallowed by her tongue and they fell back into each other’s arms. Buffy slipped off his body but slid back into the shelter of his arms; there she fell asleep, safe and secure.


The next day was quieter and Buffy and William just wondered around the market looking at all the sights and sounds.

She made her way through the thinning crowd to the wine seller, and asked for a sample of his wares. Holding out a small horn to her, the man started talking delivery of barrels of French wines, to a place mutually agreed. Buffy tasted the golden liquid and handed the horn over to William. Their hands met on the horn and he took the drink with her still holding the horn, as he’d seen Anya and Xander do: he held onto her hand as he brought the horn to his mouth. Sipping it he then passed it back to Buffy and held it to her lips and they shared the last between them. Buffy looked up into his eyes and he wished he could take her there and then, daylight and witnesses be dammed. She made his trews tight just thinking of her, and the look in her eyes told him she felt the same way.

‘Well?’ asked the seller, breaking the mood.

‘I’ll take three small barrels delivered to the market in Hardangar by next month.’

They settled the price to be paid on delivery and after checking the barrels they moved on, their bodies nearly touching as they moved through the crowds. Buffy stopped by a man selling fine oil. She needed a barrel of that for soap and hand-cream making. A small barrel would be enough and she paid to have it delivered up to the booth.

Connor watched the pair of them. He had heard their noises last night and it reminded him of Willow and Tara, the noises that pair made had him hard every night. He was going to have to find himself a wife and soon, but today he had business with the Jarl. He wished he could find some way of helping his mother and her lover. Wyrd was strange, the Norns wove intricate patterns that few could see but it tended to work out well, if one had faith.

William looked pensive as they wandered around hand in hand. Buffy loved the market and it was her only opportunity to spend money.

‘What is it, William? Have I done something to upset you?’ she asked.

‘No, nothing.’

‘Well something has, Wessex, now what is it? Come on tell me or I’ll tickle you!’ she threatened with a smile on her lips but her eyes were shadowed by whatever worried William.

‘I was thinking, even if you lived in Northumbria, Wessex or Mercia, I wouldn’t be wealthy enough to support you, you are so far above me.’

‘Oh William, I have spent a fortune this market and I know it, but I have made that money myself. I wouldn’t cost you anything, in fact I would learn your ways and work out how I could make money for your hall. My braid fetches good prices: those goblets I bought with the money I made from my own work. The spices and jewels were bought with the silver I got off the raiders who tried and failed to take us; the oil and wine from the profits off of our own furs and woollens. I have cost nothing this year. The fabric came from the reward money Leif paid the hall for the killing of one declared wolf’s head. I make profit for any hall I live in: and you are not below me. Your father sat in a king’s hall, as did mine. Your mother served a queen - as did mine. You are a younger son; I was the only surviving child. That is the only difference. If you were a beggar I would make you your fortune within five years and your hall would be lauded and praised as Connor’s is. Do you hear of my hall? You didn’t even know I had a different hall, did you? No, and nor should anyone. I carry the keys to Connor’s hall and that is where my loyalties lie. As they would to your hall if I held the key there.’

She shook his hand off of her arm and stormed off, her eyes flashing with anger. How could he think that of her, that she thought so little of him? She turned to see him, still standing where she’d left him, then thought about what he’d said: that she was above him, that she was his superior. She looked at his face and realised how much she’d hurt him. She ran back to William.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just…hate that you would think that of me. I have never treated you like a thrall, have I?’

It’s alright my love. I shouldn’t have got upset because an amazing lady is good at her job, and no, you have never treated me as anything other than a noble. And you’re right, we suit each other.’

‘We do. I’m just bitchy Buffy this week, my back hurts and my stomach aches and I just want to get home.’

William had been with Buffy long enough to realise what she meant, it was her flow. He held out his hand and took hers.

‘Come on, let’s get you comfortable.

They made their way back to their booth. The day after next they would be leaving and they intended to enjoy the feast over the next two nights. William was due to tell the last part of Beowulf and Buffy wanted to hear it.

Connor was waiting to talk to William when they got back. He watched as William wrapped a heated fire-stone in a piece of woollen cloth, gave it to Buffy and helped her to bed, kissing her gently on the forehead; he recommended she sleep until it was time to get ready for the feast.

Connor pulled a couple of the benches outside for them to sit on. There was a hneaftafl board carved in one, and fox-and-geese on the other. The two men sat in the weak spring sun and played board games.

‘I need to speak with you. William. What you did, saving me from that injury, deserves a reward. Ask and it shall be yours. A portion of the fine, perhaps? Or would you like to stay here, with us, with Buffy?’

William looked up quickly into Connor’s eyes wondering if he were joking or not.

‘It’s no joke William, we would welcome you into our hall.’

‘What about Tara?’

‘She should go home, but there is a place for you.’

William stopped concentrating on the game. Connor took advantage of his distraction and moved his piece, taking one of William’s.

‘I need time to think. It’s a tempting offer, but I am needed at home. I would want to know how my family fare.’

‘Think about it, then.’

‘I will. It’s a hard choice. My heart says stay but I would bring nothing to Buffy, no money, lands: nothing, my title means nothing here. I would always be the Saxon hostage that she kept. She wouldn’t mind, I know that, but I would, and honour demands…’

‘Honour demands,’ Connor repeated before completely surrounding William’s king.



They decided to stay an extra day at the Thing, allowing Buffy to rest and get over the worst of her pains before heading back on the tough journey home. The afternoon of the last day saw the sun shining and people packing their belongings. Xander, Connor and the other men from their booth were getting into the rougher clothes they had with them. William watched with curiosity as they put supporting bandages on their knees and elbows.

Connor signalled to William. ‘You want to join in?’

‘What?’

‘The Ba’.’

‘The what?’

‘It’s a game. Aldis will throw a ball into the air and each team will try and get it back to their own booth; the one that does, wins.’

‘Sounds simple. I’d love to play.’

‘What my darling son has forgotten to tell you,’ Buffy interrupted, ‘is that there is only one rule…no weapons. I, like the rest of the ladies, am going to sit well away from the action.’

Connor grinned at her, then at William. ‘Well, are you in?’

William answered by stripping off his cloak and handing Buffy the small eating knife he had been using during lunch. And his grin made him look about 12.

The men made their way to the Speaker’s stone where Aldis was standing talking with Skapti. The crowd got thicker and thicker and Leif sounded a horn to bring the rabble to order.

‘The rules of the Thing are suspended for those playing in the game!’ he shouted. Which raised a great cheer from those standing around.

Aldis held up a leather ball, turned her back to the crowd and threw it high over her shoulder. One youth made a great leap into the air, hitting the ball towards a group of waiting men, and the game was on.

William found it hard to follow the action. Every time he got near the ball there was an elbow or knee aimed at him.

Connor and William saw a flash of leather go past them in someone’s arms and both made a diving grab at the same moment. Connor got his arms around it and tried to stand, but the weight of bodies pressing on him was too much. Xander slipped into his right and William managed to wriggle into a tiny space on his left; Connor managed to get his feet under him and broke free of the scrum that had formed around him. They were off and running. Blood dripped from a cut on Connor’s cheek and Xander was sporting a rapidly blackening eye. Then Connor was tripped by a man in a yellow shirt who grabbed the ball and ran off with it.

Buffy had watched for a while, but although she normally loved the ba’ she wasn’t up to standing around in the chilly wind. She made her way over to where Linden and Aldis were sitting, with a hurdle behind them to act as a wind-break. Linden made room on the bench for Buffy and signalled for a thrall to bring the Lady a hot drink. Dried nettles and blackberries with raspberry leaves in it made a refreshing tea that eased the cramps she was feeling.

The women sat and gossiped, watching the men play like children for most of the afternoon. The pack made its way back and forward across the open space until finally someone from one of the lesser camps made a break for it and managed to get the ball home. The cheers and shouts rang out; Leif presented the winner with a small purse of silver pennies and invited everyone to the final night’s feasting in his hall. The Thing would break on the morning.

The journey home was longer than the one out, William was sure of it. It took them four days, moving slowly through the sodden countryside, camping in the clearings. Their journey was punctuated by the sound of the horn blasting through the air, letting everyone know they were genuine travellers and not vagabonds.

They passed their time by talking about the plans that they had made for the hall, or at least Connor did. Buffy and William were wrapped up in each other’s eyes so much that you had to get their attention before you could talk to them.

Connor was looking forward to seeing Willow and Tara again. He had made up his mind, after talking it over with the Jarl, to ask Willow to become mistress of his hall: his first wife and keeper of his keys. It would mean taking them off Buffy but she had told him that she wanted to get back to her own hall and take control of it, so it wouldn’t be seen as an insult. He wouldn’t want to hurt his step mother.

Robin was to join Connor’s hall in two weeks, after he had tied up his work at Buffy’s, and then Faith and her children would be moving back home with him to help them. Connor’s thoughts went to the Moor. He was a strong man, both physically and mentally. He would care for Faith and serve her well. Gram had promised help, and they would be arriving in Faith’s hall within a month.

He, Connor, would then be leaving for Jorvik and business in Northumbria, his ship stocked with wood and furs, skins and salt, as well as spices and silks brought down through Russia and up from the Caliphates. Add to that Buffy’s fine braids and they had a cargo worth boasting about. The plan was for him to meet up with Erik who would have had an answer about the ransoms and then head home for the hay making. He would stay for the first harvests then he would leave, together with William and Tara. William would have been with Buffy for less than a year, a year that would have to carry him through the rest of his life. Connor looked towards the Saxon. In his heart he knew the choice William would make. He and Buffy loved each other so much. They truly had been Freya-touched, but the Saxon was a proud man and he would not, could not stay for a marriage to which he brought nothing. Buffy was an incredible woman, and Connor knew that William felt unworthy of her. That would put more strain on their relationship than any opposition her family could give them. It was hard, but then so was their world.

William’s thoughts kept going back to Connor’s offer. He wanted to stay, but in honour knew he couldn’t. If he came to Buffy as a suitor, he would come with lands, title, position, and wealth, not as a refugee from another land with nothing, nothing save the charity of others. He had told Buffy of Connor’s words and hoped she understood why he was thinking about it so carefully. His heart wanted to say yes so quickly, but he knew it would be a horrendous mistake. If he were to marry anyone he would have to come as an equal or the superior, he could not come as the supplicant. He could never live with himself if it were like that, it would eat at his soul until all that was left was the shell of the man he’d become.

It was coming on for dusk when they finally saw the torches set out on the pale. Connor sounded the horn and shouted their names loudly. Buffy was grateful to see the gates swing open and Willow and Tara standing there holding torches high to light the way in. She gratefully pushed her palfrey* into a trot and made her way inside the pale.

Jon and Andrew ran up and started to take the reins of the horses as the men dismounted, William reaching up to lift Buffy down as Connor helped Faith down from the wagon. She slid into his arms gratefully. The journey had taken more out of her than she realised and she was so happy to be home. Helga and Olaf were chatting as they made their way inside; the rest of the men walked their own horses around to the stable and started stripping off the saddles. Good hay and oats were ready for the beasts, as was a barrel full of fresh water. Jon stayed with them, the inside of the stable lit by one sheltered candle. He would attend to the animals and ensure that they were all alright before going in for the night meal.

Buffy and William headed for the doorway hand in hand. They were greeted by the smell of a rich pork stew and fresh bread, which warmed them more than the fire.

‘There are honey cakes to follow,’ Anya told them as she kissed Xander thoroughly before the poor man had even taken off his cloak.

They were all soon settled and enjoying a good hot meal, with mulled wine to warm their bones. William slept the sleep of the just, spooned into Buffy’s back, his hand resting on her stomach. How sweet it would be if there was new life in there, planted by him, but that was not to be; Buffy had made it clear there would be no child and he would away home to his own lands. He wouldn’t leave a nameless bastard behind him, he couldn’t, and at that moment he was grateful for Buffy’s wisdom and Willow’s skill with the herbs.


The next day saw the hall filled with laughter and song. Buffy flew around the home and land as though her feet were on fire. She checked every nook and every cranny around the hall before the day meal and after they had eaten she put on her thick cloak. Buffy picked up some bread and cheese and a costral of small beer as she headed out of the door.

William followed, fascinated by what she was doing. He had never seen a woman work so hard, and when you considered that this wasn’t her hall but Conner’s it was doubly admirable of her. He wished that she could meet his mother, he knew in his heart they would love one another dearly.

Buffy smiled as she realised who was following her. She was escaping, her day’s work done, she as headed into the woods for a break and knew he would follow if he could.
Buffy turned to smile seductively at William and he grabbed his cloak and ran after her. They made their way through the open gates to the woods beyond. In daylight it was a reasonably safe place to walk. There was no sign of the violence that had happened when Faith had been in hiding with them. Nothing was left of those Buffy had destroyed: it was as though they had turned to dust and blown away.

They were well out of sight and sound of the hall when Buffy laid her cloak on the ground and sat down on it, opening up her lunch. She had packed enough for two, but William still hadn’t made his presence known. He watched her from behind a tree as she just lay on the ground. This was her secret: she escaped occasionally to do …nothing. If she was in the hall she would have been called at least five times by now and here she could just …rest.

‘I know you’re there,’ Buffy called out. ‘Come on out William.’

‘How did you know it was me? It could have been some big bad monster,’ he answered laughingly.

She reached up and took his hand; pulling him down gently, she moved over so he could share her cloak.

‘Hey, you’re cold love,’ William held open his own cloak allowing her to take shelter under his arm. Buffy snuggled in gratefully and wrapped her arm around his waist.

‘Do you think it’s dreadful of me to run away sometimes?’

‘No, of course not. You work so hard Buffy, you deserve some time just for yourself. And this seems a lovely place.’

‘It was always my favourite. When things were hard, when I first came to the hall and Angel was in one if his moods I would come and hide out here for hours. Willow always knew where I was, and I’d bring Connor sometimes if his father’s temper was flying in his direction. But these two trees, a silver birch and an oak woven together, this was my hiding hole.’

‘What happened to Connor’s mother?’ William asked quietly.

‘She died to give him life. I was only about five and I still remember the blood and my mother crying when she couldn’t save them both.’

‘How old was Angel then?’ William asked gently. He didn’t know why he asked that question. But this was the first time she’d talked to him about her late husband and he wanted to know how she felt about him.

‘He was nearly forty, and hateful. No kindness in him at all, nothing gentle or soft or honourable, unless he wanted something from you. My father and uncle were well fooled by him and his promises. He enjoyed having very young wives: Darla was his third, I was his fourth and if he hadn’t died there would have been others. He liked ‘em too young to know what was happening to them, he used to buy really young slave girls and torment them for hours, days even. And if anyone spoke against it, he would turn against that person as well. I was just fourteen when we married, and I had my son less than a year later. He was the only good thing that came from my marriage. When he died I spent the next five years rebuilding this hall’s reputation. And now it’s ready for Connor’s wife to take over from me. I can hand over the keys with a good and happy heart, knowing I’ve done my duty.’

‘And what will you do? Go back to your own hall? Will that be enough for you, Elizabeth of Trondheim?’

‘Oh yes, I have kept it working, and extended the lands. There is a good harbour, woodlands, fish from the sea and the streams. The salmon run there every year. There are animals for trapping and the sheep have a good thick fleece on them. My women weave the fabric we use for the sails, and they fetch a fortune. I have a ship there as well. What about you? Will you go back to the church house?’

‘No, I don’t think I could. I’m not the man who arrived here six months ago. I have changed so much. Your hall and its people have opened my eyes to so much. I have become the man my mother always saw within me: I wrestle, and occasionally win,’ he smiled wryly. ‘I have become a swordsman, and I have become a man. I think being locked away in a monastery would be hell now. I’ll go home and see what happens. If they pay my ransom…’

‘If they won’t?’ she sounded half hopeful and half fearful.

‘I can give my allegiance to Connor and learn to become someone he would think of as good enough to court his mother. I would have to earn my name Buffy: please understand that. I would have to.’

‘If you didn’t want to come to me with that much honour William you wouldn’t be the man I love, and I do love you so much.’ She leant up and gave him a gentle but searing kiss.

They spent the afternoon making love in the woods. Gently, tenderly, revelling in each other’s bodies. It was heading for nightfall when they made their way back to the hall. Sitting by the fire, enjoying a horn of ale, was Eirik.

The man stood up as soon as they walked in and hurried across to Buffy swinging her up in his arms and kissing her soundly on the cheek. William growled quietly. He hated the sight of another man’s hands on his lady, but she was giggling like a child.

‘Eirik, what are you doing here? How is everyone? What made you start out so early, what are you doing here?’

‘And there she is, the babbling Buffy,’ laughed Willow.

Eirik laughed as well. ‘You repeated that last one twice Buffy, now if you’ll let me I will sit back down and finish this horn. Then I will answer every question you have.’

Buffy laughed and nodded, slipping off her cloak and handing it to Anya. The men from the ship had taken their places on benches around the hall.

‘We’re putting up the tent within the pale,’ Eirik said. ‘Connor agreed, that way we won’t put your hall out too much.’

‘As if you could.’

William looked around for Tara. She was sitting very quietly in the shadows at the back of the hall. She remembered what had happened last time they met this man, and she was scared, the terror showing on her face.

William made his way across to her and sat by her side. He took her hand and pulled her into the shelter of his arms quietly. ‘Connor and Buffy have always treated us fairly; you’ll be fine, we’ll be fine. Could you imagine Connor or Buffy letting anything happen to us? To you? Connor likes you, Willow would protect you to the ends of the earth. I hear you at night Tara, as you hear me. The ones with whom we share our nights love us and will not hurt us, so we have to trust them.’

Tara nodded and relaxed into his arms a little.

Connor noted the exchange in the corner, but his concentration was on his guest. He hadn’t had a chance to talk with Willow yet, Eirik had arrived in the early afternoon and it had taken time to get the crew settled. Anya and Willow, with Xander’s help, had prepared a feast as soon as they’d seen the ship approaching, so Buffy wouldn’t be disgraced.

The tables were set up and the men took their places, having been summoned by horn. Tara and William felt in the way for the first time since they had arrived. All the hall were running around getting things sorted and they had no job and no place. Tara went to sit at the table, but Buffy who had been hurrying by, pulled at her arm and shook her head.
‘We’ll sit down once we’ve got them all fed,’ she nodded her head in the direction of the forty or so men that had entered the hall. ‘William, if you’ll sit a little lower than usual, here, she indicated a seat about four down from his normal place, ‘and do you feel like doing Beowulf again?’

William nodded and took the bench that had been indicated. Tara was handed two jugs of ale and Anya was loaded with bread on a platter. The men fell onto the food like they were starving. Stew, meat and fish vanished in short order, followed by nut balls in honey and dried fruits. A huge clootie dumpling was added to the groaning tables, as was a huge hard cheese. William ate sparingly, watching Buffy as she played hostess in her son’s hall, ensuring her women served all the men, she herself serving the head table and, most pointedly, William.

It was quite a while before the last of the men were fed their fill and had relaxed back on the benches. Buffy, Tara and the other women had saved themselves good platefuls of the food and sat together chatting whilst the men talked of business. For William it felt like he was back in his father’s hall, listening to agreements being made by the older men. The only difference was that here, when he added anything, it was listened to.

After all had eaten and the tables cleared Eirik signalled one of his men, who came forward with a chest. It was opened to show about fourteen pounds of silver.

‘The rest of the money for the woman we bought,’ Eirik said, ‘it concludes our business about her.’

‘It does.’

‘We had a reply from the Wessex court about your hostages,’ Eirik added, ‘I don’t think you are going to like it.’

‘Continue…’

‘Do you want them to wait outside?’

‘No, if it’s about them they should hear it.’

Eirik drew out a vellum scroll and handed it to Connor, who handed it over to William.
William opened it and started to read as Eirik continued:

‘They will pay the ransom for him, but not her. Her father offered me silver to see her throat cut,’ he added quietly.
‘No, no, no,’ Tara whispered; she couldn’t believe her father could be so cruel. To refuse to pay even her dowry as ransom was horrible, and traitorous. Most of that money had come through her mother, it was rightfully hers, he had no right to... only he did have the right, he was her father… her lord and master.

William was trying to process the news. He would have to leave, and soon. They had promised the ransom money and Connor’s honour meant that he would keep his word. His idyll, his glimpse of heaven was over: time to go home.

Connor and Eirik were discussing details. Connor would head for somewhere called Wirhal where someone named Ingimund ruled. He had dealings with the Mercian court, not friendly ones true, but dealings none the same and William would be transferred over there. There was an old town, long abandoned with great walls that Athelflaed was refortifying. The Wessex contingent would have the money waiting. William would be leaving in just a few days: he didn’t have months, or even weeks with Buffy, he had just a few days.

They didn’t have any poetry or songs that night: instead Connor and Eirik sat up talking. Tara crept into bed quietly beside Willow. ‘What am I going to do?’ she cried, her muffled sobs breaking the healer’s heart.

‘You are going to stay here with me, and I am going to care for you.’ The redhead pulled Tara into her arms and started kissing her, gently at first, but it soon became more passionate.

‘He didn’t want me,’ she cried.

‘Well I do and so does Connor… how would you feel about being the second wife?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Connor is planning on asking me to become his wife, silly boy doesn’t think I know, but I do. So how about we suggest that you and I share him?’

‘Second wife? What would that mean? I would be a concubine or whore?’

‘No, nothing like that: only the first wife carries the keys. Buffy is lady of the hall at the moment and she wants to go back to her own hall. I would be first wife, people would expect that, but they would think that he marries me from duty and you from love. But Connor is away from home seven months a year, leaving him here for six. There is enough room in that shut-bed for all three of us… well?’

‘It’s hard, but I would be a wife, not a mistress?’

‘You would be a wife, his wife and in many ways mine as well. I need to be able to carry on with my studies, to become a full nana. You would be responsible for the hall and we could split the other duties between us.’

‘Even the bedroom ones? If I were married I would want children.’

‘I think we could work something out,’ Willow said grinning and leant into her lover, kissing her with long, deep eager kisses.

William thought about the recent developments as he felt the bed dip as Buffy climbed in beside him. ‘Are you still awake?’ she whispered.

‘Uh-huh, was just thinking about what Eirik said.’

‘What about, William?’

‘About leaving: you know I’ve got to go home though, don’t you.’

‘I knew from the talk this afternoon,’ Buffy required quietly. ‘I don’t want you to go but I really do understand.’

‘It would be torture for me, Buffy. I want to stay so much, but to live off another’s charity… but the offer Connor made, do you think he would make a place for Tara?’

‘I don’t think that would be a problem. I think in fact that could be easily arranged. He’s had eyes for Tara since she arrived and I think we should talk to him, but tomorrow. If I’ve only got you for a few more days William, Lord of Wessex, I intend to make the most of it.’ She lifted her leg over his and pulled him into a searing kiss.

The next morning, when Willow prepared the herbs that prevented conception, Buffy refused them. ‘We’ll let Freya decide,’ she said. Willow nodded and smiled as she took the cup away.

The morning saw rain come to the hall and the lands around it. The water fell heavily and looked like it was set in for the day. Anyone who entered looked like they’d taken a bath with their clothes on, and wet cloaks dripped from the pegs where they were hung, making little rivulets running towards the doorway. Buffy still insisted that water was heated for the visitors to wash themselves and the women folk were kept busy all morning running hither and thither attending to all the men in their hall. Anya and Willow had organised Andrew and Jon to fetch and carry out in the rain. They would be allowed to bathe when everyone else had finished. A sick thrall was of no use to anyone.

Connor and Eirik sat on the side of his shut bed, the doors wide open as they attempted to keep out of everyone’s way. The hall was a dangerous place to be with the hustle and bustle. It looked like a market place in full swing.


There was a ship to ready for its spring sailing, a hall to manage… Faith’s children were looking fit and healthy but were underfoot everywhere it seemed.

It astounded William to see how much patience everyone had with the little ones. Their questions were always answered and when the little girl, Inga, got tired she just climbed into the nearest lap and fell asleep. It was incongruous to see hardened warriors capable of great cruelty, like Connor and Eirik, lower their voices so as to not awaken a girl child who was sleeping quietly, peacefully, in their arms.

William went back to helping lift the great cauldron onto the fire. Andrew had kept it hot all morning and the men had finally cleaned themselves and their clothes. They had made their way to the great tent that had been put up in the pale and settled in for a days’ games; Connor and Eirik just talked quietly, catching up on friends and relatives. Connor signalled William over.

‘Feeling better after last night’s news?’

‘I am, but Tara was shocked. I can’t believe her father refused to pay: well maybe I can. He was always a heartless bastard and Tara is one of three girls he would have to find dowries for.’

‘He has offered me 20 shillings in silver if I see her blood spilt. Those were his exact words, her blood spilt,’ Eirik said quietly. He didn’t want the woman to realise just how heartless her family had been.

‘So I have an idea,’ Connor said with a grin. ‘William, you know how I feel about your cousin?’ William nodded slowly, waiting to hear what Connor would add to that statement.

‘And, well, it’s not made any easier by hearing her and Willow at night, so I am offering to spill her blood.’ William started to protest but something about the way Connor had said it made him look twice at his host and captor.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if she and Willow are agreeable, I will offer for them both: marry them, good and proper. That way I get to spill Tara’s blood alright, I’ll spill it onto the bed linen on the wedding night!’

William allowed the words to settle into his brain and then started laughing. Connor’s smile was infectious and Eirik was laughing out loud.

‘When I return you, we can truly say that plans were being made for her blood letting, it will be no lie…’

‘But what about her dowry? You would be entitled to quite a bit.’

‘I will get it, I would take her without dowry happily, but that would upset Tara, I think. She would feel inferior for not having brought something to her husband’s hall. So, the reward money I was going to give you for your eye can be added to what her father has offered for the blood letting. And her skills as a healer are valuable: that would make a fair dowry when added together for a second wife. I would take care of her, William: she would be equal to Willow.’

‘You poor man,’ Eirik added, ‘one wife nags enough, why would you want two?’

Connor grinned again, making him look about fifteen summers. ‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘but the nights would be worth it.’

‘She’s my cousin,’ William spoke quietly, ‘and according to our law she should have a male relative agree such a contract. What would she get if the marriage didn’t work? If you divorced her she would have no family to turn to, and if she were widowed where would she go?’

‘We could find a family willing to speak for her: I bet Buffy would, or Faith, and I will write my will now if that is what you want, make sure she is well cared for should I go the way of the warrior.’

‘That would be acceptable.’ William was actually shaking. He didn’t want to push his luck, and Tara had to be cared for. He had learned that these were honourable folk who would keep their oaths, but Tara needed to be protected and he wouldn’t be here. The thought made his heart grow cold. He had to return home, his place in Connor’s hall taken by his fair cousin, and he would away back to his brothers and mother. At least she would be pleased to see him - he hoped.

‘What would she expect for a morning gift?’ Connor asked William suddenly. William looked confused. ‘A morning gift?’

‘Yes, the morning after she gifts her maidenhead to her husband, it’s traditional to give the bride a replacement of equal value. Jewellery, silver, land? What would Tara expect?’

‘Nothing,’ he blurted out, ‘the bride may get a small piece of jewellery from her husband as a wedding gift, but her virginity is his to take, she has no say in that.’ William blushed, this was his cousin they were discussing after all. Eirik and Connor looked horrified.

‘No wonder Ingimund’s men are having such success with the local girls!’ Eirik laughed. ‘The Saxon women are all over the Norse every time they go into market, and there have been some marriages across the lines.’

‘Well if she’s not expecting anything I will have the silver smith make her and Willow a matched pair of brooches for their hangerocks, silver gilt and a good 8 ounces each. That should be enough to keep me in their sweet words.’



Tara and Willow watched the men talking and giggled to themselves. Did Connor really think he was being subtle? The glances and looks they had been getting all morning had been enough to let both healers know what was happening. Tara was glad that William had stepped up to represent her, she knew that she couldn’t have the sort of wedding she’d been expecting, but at least she would be cared for.

‘Willow, what about a priest? Who will speak the words that make us married?’

‘We speak them ourselves, on an armring held by the Jarl. Leif will most probably come for Connor’s wedding, and the party will last for days. One of the nights he will bed us and after that we are married. Isn’t it like that for you?’

‘No, a priest speaks the words of marriage over us, and binds us as husband and wife, then there is a meal and a bedding, it’s done in the man’s hall normally.’

‘Well at least that bit is the same.’ Willow stated and then continued to watch the men. They looked as though their drinks were getting empty. She picked up the empty jug and refilled it from the cask set up on its stand near the door, then made her way over to where the men were talking and started refilling their cups. William smiled up at her and Connor looked her straight in the eye. ‘Willow, we need to talk: you, me and Tara.’

‘About time too,’ Willow said with a smile.

William and Eirik took it as their cue to move away and Connor and Willow were soon joined by a blushing but excited Tara.

‘When would the marriage be?’ William asked Eirik, ‘what’s normal for your people?’

‘Unless there is reason to hurry, I would think that Connor and Willow will set it for the autumn when he returns from his voyage. It will give the hall time to prepare the food and ale, and the women time to embroider dresses for themselves. What is it you really want to know, William? You wouldn’t be talking to me unless you have a question.’

‘Harmony, what happened to her?’

‘That one, she was trouble from the moment she got onto the boat. Her mouth just did not stop, we sold her on in Mann: she fetched a good price and went to a hall where there were a few women and a lot of men. She seemed happy enough to be off the boat; if she keeps her head, she’ll live.’

It was the most that William could hope for. At least if anyone asked him when he went home he could answer honestly.

That night the Hall celebrated the announcement of Connor’s wedding to Tara and Willow.

Buffy was happy for them. She could leave the hall with a good conscience and manage her own lands. But first there was a ship to ready, and a summer to prepare for. She kept herself busy, not wanting to count the days until Connor’s ship left with William aboard.
Her days were filled with work and her nights filled with William. There wasn’t a night left to them that they didn’t share the joys of the bed. They clung to every moment they had together, getting quieter as the leaving day approached, just being together.

William worked with the men to ready the ship. She was hauled into the water, after seams had been caulked and ropes checked. The sun compass was checked against the sun’s course across the bay, ready for the crossing to Shetland and Hrossey. Provsions were stored, water barrels readied, fresh ale prepared, salt pork and hard bread, oats and dried beans barrelled up and loaded; salt and spices were bagged up and put into a chest ready to go aboard. The older of the chickens were sorted and penned ready to go into their baskets. Sheepskins were aired and leather sleeping bags checked over and waterproofed with grease. Buffy found Angel’s old one and sorted it ready for William. She made him a new set of clothes to take with him as well. She had also packed him a sack of gifts for Connor to give him when they arrived at their destination: not before, she didn’t want him refusing them. The book William had said was valuable, a silver cross she’d bought at the market for him, and a string of beads for his mother. She hoped he liked them.

Connor sorted the trade goods. They had a fine cargo of timber as well as the spices and silk he had collected last year. When he’d dropped off William he was hoping to go through to Waterford and trade with the Hiberno-Norse who lived there, then on to the Franks and back up the coast home. Home to a wedding and two wives, and no Buffy. She would be coming for the party but she had her own hall to care for.


Faith watched all the arrangements. She had regained her strength and the strapping was off her arm. Her children were growing like weeds, and she was filling out. She felt the strength return to her limbs and to her mind. When she thought about how weak she had become she couldn’t believe it. But no more. She owed Connor and Buffy in a big way, and she would pay that debt, but she wouldn’t be pushed around by any one any more. She watched as Buffy and William worked. They couldn’t keep their eyes, or hands, off each other if the noise last night was anything to go by.

Buffy would have her love and respect but there would be no quarter given to the wastrels and weaklings on her own land. Robin would be with her soon and they would leave the same day as William and Connor. No long goodbyes, no tears, just away with her children and her new factor.

William pulled out the robes he’d worn when he’d arrived from under his sleeping pallet. He tried to put them back on, knowing he would have to leave the loaned clothes with the Hall. The robe was far too small. He’d put on weight and muscle since he’d arrived. It wouldn’t go over his shoulders at all, they were so much broader. The trews cut into his legs and looked like something a stripling would wear. He looked ridiculous.

‘You’d best keep the stuff we gave you, we can’t hand you back to your kin naked,’ Connor laughed as William tried to get the tunic off.

‘Well it would be a sight to blind everyone!’ Buffy laughed, having come in from the storerooms. She helped pull off the far too small robe and undershirt. ‘We’ll keep these for Xander’s boy: I think they’ll fit him soon enough,’ she laughed again. William was glad he’d found something to put the sparkle back in her eyes, even if it was him looking like a prat.


The two weeks until leaving day flew past. The farming year continued with new life born and crops planted. But the hall was sad. This time of year was always hard for those left behind. The ship was ready for Connor and William to leave, the wagons ready for Buffy and Faith.

Faith pulled away first: she had a longer journey than Buffy. Her sled had been converted back into a wagon and the children were sitting on top of the great piles of cloth Buffy had bought for her at the market. Around her neck was the amber Buffy had given her that morning, to protect her from witches and lightning, along with the bag of ginger Connor had promised her.

‘I will pay you back,’ Faith said, looking straight at her foster sister.

‘Too right you will,’ Buffy pulled a face at her.

‘I won’t owe you for anything.’ Faith growled back.

‘No, I know Faith, I trust you, but if you need me…’

‘If I need you I know where you’ll be. In your own hall and safe in my heart.’ Faith’s tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke. She would always remember the woman that had saved her sanity. A quick hug to Willow and Tara and then Robin helped her to mount the horse that had been lent her. Jon would go with them to bring the horses back. Gram had sent his promised men and it was a big party that headed out of the gate.

‘Nearly time to go, Buffy,’ Connor said. The look on his step mother’s face was breaking his heart. ‘The tide will be turning and will take us straight out to sea.’

Buffy nodded and wiped the water from her eyes. She wouldn’t let them see her cry.

She followed Connor down the path towards the noust, where the boat was tied up by the quay with most of her crew aboard. Anya and Xander were holding each other close. Olaf was holding Helga as well.

Connor hugged Willow and Tara hard, giving both a deep, hungry kiss on the lips. ‘I’ll return in time for the wedding.’

‘You had better, or we’ll start without you,’ Willow joked. Her eyes were full of tears but she refused to let them spill. She turned to William and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

‘Good fortune and may the gods smile on you for the rest of your life William of Wessex; and we will care for Tara, she will be my sister-wife come the fall of the year.’

Tara looked at her cousin. This was the last time they would ever see each other again. Her tears were falling down her face as she held his hands.

‘You g-give m-my love to Aunt A-anne, and take care William, Don’t e-ever forg-g-get how much I love you,’ she stammered. ‘I wish you could be at the wedding.’

‘I will be thinking of you then, and I will pray for you.’

William kissed her gently on the forehead and turned from her. He looked at Buffy, it would be the last time he would ever see her face, her eyes, her smile. They had made love all night the night before, until they had grown so weary but they hadn’t slept. They had just held one another and basked in the love they had been privileged to share, if only for a few months.

‘I love you William of Wessex, and I always will.’

She pulled up her snips and reached for one of the tiny plaits in her hair. It was tied with a piece of fingerbraiding the one she had made while he was reciting his poetry; she cut it off and handed it to him.

‘Try not to forget me.’

‘I couldn’t ever forget you my love, you have my soul and my heart forever in your keeping.’

He pulled her into his arms and filled his nose with the sweet scent of her hair, it broke his heart to leave her, but he had no choice: it would be torture to stay knowing she needed and deserved better than a man such as he.

The tears were flowing freely from both of them as he pulled away and jumped down into the boat. Connor pointed to his bench and he slipped off the cloak he’d worn and took his place at the oar.

‘Heave! Heave, heave, heave!’

He had to concentrate on the calls from Olaf as the boat made its way out to where wind and tide would carry him away from the only woman he would ever want or need.

Buffy was grateful for Tara and Willow standing by her side. It looked to the men as though they were simply holding each other’s waists; what they must never know, nor would ever be told, was that the healers were holding Buffy up so that she wouldn’t collapse as they pulled away to join Eirik’s boat that waited for them in the bay.

‘That boat has taken away the best part of me,’ she whispered. She waited until they were around the headland and completely out of sight before collapsing in tears on the ground.
It was two days before she was strong enough to leave for her own hall.

That month her flow didn’t come. Freya had blessed her, and the child’s father would never know.

William watched as the coastline grew more and more distinct. They had been at sea for nearly a month now and he had tried to become a useful member of the crew, learning as much as he could. Olaf’s skill in navigating across the ocean had brought back all the old tales about the Norsemen being wizards. They had reached the first islands, of which Hrossey was the biggest, in only five days, the ships sounding their horns as the dusk approached. The answering horns had let the crew know there was a welcome for them and they had beached the ships, running them straight onto the sand and stones at a place called Birsay.

There was a fine hall on a small tidal island, with a village building up around it on the main island. The weather was warmer than he’d expected, as was the welcome. The hall had put them up for a couple of days whilst a storm blew itself out around them. The talk had been of markets opening up in Mercia and Wessex, where the best trade goods could be collected and of the lands that this lord, Turf-Einar Rognvaldsson, had taken. The islands were wonderful: with few trees - the islanders had bought some of Connor’s cargo of timber and agreed to buy more later that year - but good farm land and wonderful fishing. It was a rich land and a man could carve out a fine jarldom for himself here.
They had served fresh deepwater fish as well as shellfish for many of the meals; the bread was dark and rich, the butter fresh and there were huge hard cheeses on the table. William had been treated with respect: it seemed that the Lord knew Buffy and had a fondness for her. They also knew Ingimund and Connor was charged with messages to take down to him for them. Turf-Einar wanted trade.

They then headed away, west for Connor’s ship and east for Eirik’s. Eirik was going for the market at Jorvik. The goodbyes had been quick and painless. For Connor it was away to the Lord of the Isles, again trading and dealing in his hall. The Norse were seamen through and through, their ships fast and sleek, cutting the waters like a knife, twisting and turning with its uncertain moods. They showed skills that William was eager and willing to learn. He watched the birds as they flew inland showing the quickest way, the tides as they changed their course, the clouds, the currents. All were as good as signposts for Olaf and Connor.

Then to Mann. William was worried about seeing Harmony, but she was no longer living in the main hall. A farmer had bought her to work for him and his wife, her waist-line had been expanding fast and they had three sons who were seeking entertainment. William knew that the child would not be permitted to live, but at least Harmony had a roof over her head and food in her belly.

Again William was treated no differently to Xander, another member of the crew, given a place to sleep and food to eat. He was even rewarded with silver when he sang and told his tales, repeating the one about Thor’s hammer that Linden had told at the Jarl’s table at the Thing.

The green coast of Wirhal was big now; they followed the river upstream toward a copse of birch trees behind which stood a Norse longhall, navigating sandbanks and eddies in the wide fast river. The horn sounded to let the strangers know they approached and William’s heart sank further. Every day took him away from Buffy. This was it, the worst, back on his native soil. Horses would complete the journey home. He fingered the lock of hair Buffy had given him and felt the tears well up in his eyes again. He was crying like a woman. Xander and Connor pretended not to notice but left him in peace.


Ingimund’s hall was as fine as any William had been in and the welcome was as warm as all the others had been. When they entered the lady had seated William with Connor and Olaf at the head table. There was something about his bearing that said Noble. That, and the way he was dressed.

Ingimund sat with Connor as the night meal was prepared around them. ‘How is the Valkyrie?’

‘My Mother is well, thank you.’

William felt his spine stiffen at the perceived insult on the lady Buffy and Ingimund noticed his change in expression. ‘What’s up with yonder lad then?’

‘He and Buffy have become close over the winter,’ Connor started to explain.

‘And she let him? He’s not undead is he? We all know what happened to the last man to chance his luck with The Lady Elizabeth, he still carries the scars!’ Ingimund started to joke.

Connor joined in the hilarity, ‘he thought she was a servant and grabbed her!’

‘And ended up in the midden for his trouble and when he complained she back-handed him half way across the yard. If it weren’t for the fact that she scares me I would have offered for her myself,’ Ingimund continued. ‘We would have protected her, but she seemed to be doing fine by herself.’

‘Well this is the man that tamed her,’ Connor said with a grin, pointing at William, who was trying to follow the talk in a different accent to the one Connor and Buffy spoke.
Ingimund laughed again and shook William’s hand hard.

‘So where’s this prisoner we’re taking back to the Mercians, and when do we swap him?’

Connor grinned again and pointed to William. ‘He’s the prisoner, and we were wondering if we couldn’t deal at Meols. The Saxons would have the land and we the sea.’

‘Buffy tamed by a Saxon: never thought I’d see that. Let’s hope his own folk don’t shoot him before the ransom is paid, he looks like one of us! Meols is a long way from their strong hold in Chester: I doubt if they would be happy travelling that distance. I suggest higher up the river, opposite the city there’s a good water meadow. It’s broad and we have the advantage of the tide right up to the walls. I’ll send a rider overland and tell them to expect us in what, 4 days?’

‘Sounds good,’ Connor replied, ‘four days more William and you’re home with your own people.’

‘Now say that like it’s a good thing,’ William growled.

‘Do you want him tied? He could escape.’

‘He won’t, he saved my life at the Thing, and he’s given his word. Anyway, I’m marrying his cousin later this year.’

Talk turned to other matters and William was left to his own thoughts. At the end of the meal, he sang and told his tales, earning Ingimund’s thanks and another gift of silver.

William’s heart was heavy as he boarded the ship for the last time. The mood was sombre all round. Xander and Connor sat with him as Olaf guided the great ship up one river and down the next, each man pulling his oar with a heavy heart. It was a morning’s sail with the tide before the great walls of the City came into view. Before the gates could open and he went back to being a Saxon through and through William pulled Connor into a hug.
‘I will always call you my friend, what ever happens,’ he said before hugging Xander as well.

Olaf ruffled his hair, longer now than when he arrived with them. ‘You take care boy, and keep up your skills with sword and word, you never know when Vikings may come raiding!’

‘I will take care of Tara and Buffy for you,’ Connor told him as he handed William a bag that had been in Connor’s chest.

‘I know you will,’ William answered.

‘The bag is a gift from Buffy, she wanted to make sure you didn’t refuse it. She says her heart is in it as well, and she will never forget you or dishonour your name.’

William could feel the tears welling up in his eyes again. He gave Connor a nod and went back to his bench to look in the sack. It was heavy and full.

In it, carefully packed, was the book of prayer Connor had taken in the raid on Lindisfarne, the one William had saved from the fire. William caressed the cover. It was worth as much as his ransom. There was also a small packet, tied with some of her tablet-braid. William knew how much his mother paid for such stuff and knew she had given her best. Inside it was a silver cross. She must have bought it at the market at the Thing. There was also a birch tablet: he opened it carefully and started to read her letter to him.




My darling,

Hopefully Connor has given you this just before you reach your own people. I wanted you to know that I love you very much and I always will. It is the way of my people to be married, but I have talked to Connor and Leif and told them I cannot face another man in my bed. They have promised to let me stay unwed. You were not my first lover: I was married before I ever met you, but you will be my last and always my true and honest love. The husband of my heart.

I will love you now and always.


Elizabeth of Trondheim

The brooch is for your mother, from the woman who would have liked to be her daughter. It was my mother’s.

Buffy



William could feel his throat constrict. He pulled the last gift out of the sack: a fine gold and silver brooch, set with garnets and beautiful, a queenly gift. He clasped it hard in his hands, feeling the pin dig into the palm. It was the only thing he could feel at that moment. His heart and head were numb. He wanted to run all the way back to Buffy, to beg her to let him stay. Instead he had to face the group of people watching as the ship brought into the bank alongside the water meadow.

The men jumped from the ship quickly. Riders were approaching them under a banner of truce, but armed and armoured. Connor and the crew had pulled on their own mail shirts and belted on swords and axes. These were not farmyard implements, but ones used to cleave bone and flesh. Olaf turned to William and pulled out a piece of rope.

‘You’ve changed so much in the eight months with us we’d better make sure they know who they’re paying the ransom for,’ he said with a laugh. He tied William’s hands together firmly, but made sure that the bonds weren’t cutting into his flesh. Connor and Xander had already leapt down onto the bank and the rest of the crew took places along both sides of the ship, stringing up their bows as they did so. Arrows stood at the ready but none were nocked into place: that was the work of seconds if there was any treachery.

Olaf helped William climb down, he was awkward with his hands bound but he made it with only minor skinning of his knuckles. Xander reached up and William’s bag was passed down carefully into the man’s hands. He gave it to William, ensuring that the Saxon had a good grip before relinquishing his hold. Each step changed William from one of the crew to the hostage that was being exchanged. Every step changed the men at his sides from friends to captors and enemies. Every step took him away from the life he wanted to the life he had to accept.

Two of the horsemen approached slowly, keeping their hands in view at all times. One was fully armed, the other was Brother Giles, William’s mother’s confessor. He recognised him immediately as he had known the man since he was a boy. It would be Giles’ task to confirm William’s identity before the money was handed over.

‘I sort of expected them to have horns or tails or something,’ the stranger on the horse said in a loud whisper, little realising that they spoke his language.

The churchman gave him a filthy look. It was that sort of idiotic idea that had kept these two peoples at war for over a hundred years. He kicked his horse slowly on and came close to where William was standing between Xander and Connor.

‘William, is that you?’ he asked in Saxon, hardly recognising the tall, good looking man in front of him. The boy had certainly grown up in the last four years.

‘Yes Brother Giles, it is: how’s my mother?’ Was William’s first question to the older man. In his heart William knew that if his mother was no more he would try and get back to Ingimund and home to Buffy: he had made a dreadful mistake in thinking that he belonged here.

‘She’s well and waiting for you in the city.’ He replied in the Saxon tongue. Xander and Connor gave no clue that they understood what was being said. William slackened his shoulders. He hadn’t realised how tense he had become.

‘Silver?’ Connor asked in broken and badly pronounced Latin, pushing William forward a little. It ensured that William was between the warrior and Xander.

Giles signalled over his shoulder. ’21 pounds in weight of good silver,’ he said as the chest was brought up and opened in front of them. Connor got out his larger scales and knelt down, counting and weighing the ingots.

‘84 ingots of pure silver.’ Connor picked up the chest in one hand and walked towards William.

‘Fare well, my father,’ he whispered as he walked past the man and continued back to his ship, Xander walking backwards to ensure no treachery. They were covered by the archers on board, but one wrong move now would result in a blood bath. He threw the chest up to Olaf who caught it and called the men to oars.

Connor and Xander jumped aboard still covered by their own bowmen, and before the Saxons could gather their wits they were back into the centre of the river, heaving on their oars and using the tide to rush them towards the sea.

William looked at the ship leaving, taking part of him with it. And turned towards the men in front of him.

Brother Giles pulled out a knife to cut the bonds that tied him and within a short time William found himself on a horse and headed back to the city across the river.

The priest was quiet as they made their way across the ford and up the hill to the broken down gatehouse. William looked at the huge stone walls. This place was old, built by the Romans but nearly deserted: it would make the most amazing market place for Saxon and Viking alike. His people could have the land, Connor’s the sea. It could make them all a fortune in trade.

The hall he was taken to was obviously newly built. It hadn’t even been thoroughly daubed yet. But the only thing that William saw was his mother standing with a couple of women he didn’t recognise. Brother Giles excused himself and went to find Godwin, Lord Athelstan’s man who had helped them: he would report the invaders gone and the boy, man, returned in good health. Giles worried for William. He hoped that he had been treated with some respect whilst he had been held prisoner; he didn’t look like he’d been tortured, but some scars ran deep and were difficult to see. He would have to talk to him later and find out what had happened.

William dropped his bag and rushed towards his mother. As he approached he went down on one knee for her blessing, shaking with the joy at seeing her again. She was thinner than he remembered, gaunter, but still beautiful.

Lady Anne nearly didn’t recognise the stranger approaching her. His hair was longer and fairer than she remembered, and he was dressed in Norse clothing, a shorter tunic and tighter trews. His feet were shod with fine leather shoes and she swore he had grown.
He had certainly filled out: his shoulders were broad and his waist narrow. He was a fine looking man. She lifted up his head and stared into his clear blue eyes. This was her beloved youngest son. She placed a chaste kiss on his forehead.

‘I am so pleased to see you well my William,’ she whispered, drinking in all the changes in his face. He now had a scar cutting through one eyebrow, and his eyes looked older, more mature.

‘And I you, mother,’ he replied gently. She had aged in the four years since he’d gone to Lindisfarne. She looked tired and haunted. He looked around for his brothers expecting to see at least Liam there.

Anne knew who he looked for. ‘They went hunting,’ she grimaced. ‘They thought it too nice a day to wait around indoors.’

William laughed, he wasn’t going to let them upset him ever again. He had seen more in his last year than they had in their lives and he knew it.

‘Their loss, it means I get to tell you of my adventures without interruption,’ he smiled.

Lady Anne helped him to his feet. He had definitely grown, she thought, looking up at her son’s face. One of the two women made a strange noise and drew the attention of everyone back to them and away from William. Lady Anne blushed at their rudeness. She tried to like the women that her two eldest had married but it was hard.

‘William, these are your new sisters: Lady Druscilla, Harold’s wife and the Lady Darla, Liam’s wife. They came with us to bid you welcome.’

William bowed as was proper before his elder brothers’ wives. He studied the women carefully: there was a darkness about the eyes, and their lips had the mark of shrews about them. From the way they were looking at him he would have to be careful of them. They looked at him the same way Willow watched Connor and with less reason. He would mind his back with these two.

Brother Giles had reported to the Lord of the hall and made his way back to the family group.

‘There will be a banquet in honour of your release William, is there anything else you need at the moment?’

William nodded. ‘I haven’t had communion or confession in eight months, brother: will you hear me?’

‘Of course, my son.’

Lady Anne was proud of her youngest child, and proud that he would think to take care of his immortal soul before anything else. They could catch up later. He would need love and kindness to recover from his ordeal and the first step would be to reclaim his faith.

Giles and William went quietly off to one side of the hall, and through a small door. It led to a courtyard and a private chapel. He would have to make his bows to the lord soon, but for the moment he was alone with his confessor.

‘I was sorry to hear about Tara’s death,’ Giles started, ‘her father told us that she had been killed in the first attack. And another woman with her.’

‘Tara’s not dead,’ William blurted out, ‘at least she wasn’t a month ago, she was preparing for her wedding. Her father had paid the Norse to kill her, but the lord had fallen for her and offered her a place in his hall.’

‘Well the Lord be praised for that; and Harmony?’

‘Sold, she was sold onto another ship.’ William answered softly. ‘I believe she ended up in the isle of Mann.’

‘Oh I am sorry William, it must have been horrible for you; when you are stronger we will talk. Now what was it you wanted to confess?’

‘I really don’t know where to start, it was all so different, but the biggest thing was I lay with a woman, as if she were my wife.’

‘Were you forced, William? Did they treat you very badly or threaten Tara?’

‘No, nothing like that. There was a woman there, Buffy, Elizabeth, she was …wonderful, she was clever and gentle, but had a core of the finest iron, she had hair that glowed like the sun, the colour of new straw, and eyes the deepest green you have ever seen.’

‘She was gentle?’

‘Most of the time, but she has a warrior’s heart; we, the hall, was attacked and she just killed the man, shot him and walked away. I think I was the only one who was allowed to see the pain it caused her.’

‘Who was the man?’ Giles tried to be understanding, he had been young himself once and knew that although the ideal was only to keep coupling for procreation, it was an ideal and not the reality most young people lived with.

‘A lunatic, he had been declared outlaw by the Thing, their Witan, and tried to take what wasn’t his and she protected her own.’

‘And you shared pleasures?’

‘Yes, we slept together as man and wife. If I could I would have married her.’

‘I think a few days on your knees in church will be penance enough. I wouldn’t share all your adventures with your mother, though. I have to ask, William: were you hurt in any way? We hear such stories, but you don’t seem damaged.’

‘They didn’t hurt me at all: I met more kindness there, Giles, than I ever did in my brother’s hall. If I spoke I was listened to, I had more to eat and a warmer place to sleep, even before I had someone to warm it for me.’

‘And what did the lady of the hall think of you sleeping with one of her maids?’

‘She wasn’t a servant, Brother Giles, I was sharing a bed with the lady herself.’

‘And you got out alive! Her menfolk surely had something to say about it?’

‘Alive and more of a man than when I went, and her menfolk did as they were told. It was a different world. She led them, and was good and honourable and kind. Now if you’ll excuse me I had better say a few prayers here before I get back to my mother.’

He turned to the altar and knelt. Accepting the bread and wine, he shut out Giles and the rest of the world.

The talk with his mother went well - better than expected. He wanted to do as Giles had asked, but not to have mentioned Buffy would have been so disrespectful that he told the gentle Lady Anne everything, well nearly everything, about the wonderful woman he had met…she was his mother after all. Anne cried tears for the beautiful lady who had captured her son’s heart and that she could never get to know.

William opened the sack that he had brought with him and pulled out the brooch and the note…he read it gently to her, at least the part that Buffy had written to The Lady Anne. His mother’s blue eyes held tears that matched his own.

‘Is there any chance of a child?’ She asked him quietly.

William felt his heart break again, ‘No, they use herbs to stop that. I know it’s a sin, but it’s what she wanted, and I had no way to support a child. I couldn’t have left a bastard behind me, mother, and Buffy would have hated it here.’

‘What is she like?’

‘Strong: she reminds me of the Lady Athelflaed. She held home and hall together while her son was away making a good profit for them all. And she could shop! I saw her spend nearly thirty pounds of silver at a single market: even if I had brought her home I could never have afforded to keep her…

‘But her son could? Her son? William, how old is she?’

‘Younger than Liam, he’s her stepson. She had 25 summers when I knew her; I know she is older than I am, but not by that much, she carried the weight of her whole hall on her shoulders and still had time to laugh and play. We skied and skated in the winter, and one day in the spring she ran away. She hurried through her work and hid in the woods for the afternoon where no one could find her, just to have some quiet. We sat until dusk and she got home to find the messages to say that I had to leave. She just served the guests and cared for everyone there. You would never have guessed that she was crying inside.’

He looked at the brooch again. ‘She said it was her mothers.’

‘I wish I could have met her, William.’

‘So do I.’

It was the last time they talked about Buffy. It hurt Anne too much to see the haunted look in her son’s eyes and there was no way she would let her other children find out about the woman William loved so much. The brooch was worn every day, a gift from the daughter she would never know.


William’s life with his brothers was …interesting… Liam had tried to start his normal name calling and bullying. But William saw it for what it really was, bullying, and like all bullies he was easily beaten. The taunts just rolled off his back like water from a duck, and there was nothing that Liam could do about it. William had even caught Liam trying to kiss a serving girl and had walked straight into the back of him. ‘Oh I’m sorry Liam, I didn’t see you.’ in the couple of seconds it took his to help get his elder brother back on his feet the girl had broken free and run. A quiet word with Godwin later, and Liam was watched wherever he went if there was any chance of a woman being around him. It caused William no end of fun, thwarting his brother at every turn.

The talk at the table had been of the Norse and their ways. William joined in when it was appropriate, and here in Mercia his words were listened to.

‘If we only knew what they really wanted,’ Athelstan said one night. ‘Personally I would wipe them all out but I don’t think it’s ever going to happen: we need to come to some understanding with them. William what was it they wanted? What could we do to make ourselves and our people safer?’

‘Firstly sire, it is a mistake we all make thinking them just one people with one goal: each hall is more autonomous than maybe we are used to. They all speak at the Thing, the Witan; if there is need, they even allow their women to talk, even if the women prefer to shop…

‘They want trade, new markets for their goods. Take Chester. The city is old but the walls that remain are strong. It wouldn’t take much to strengthen it even further. Then the Norse could come up and camp on the meadows and the Saxon come across to trade with them…or Wirhal, they say the farm land is not as good on the north coast, but they could farm it, they would have a safe port with access to Dubhlain and Mann, and you would have goods coming from the Caliphates and the silk road.’

‘Do they really have the spices to make it worth while?’ Athelstan loved his ginger cakes, and he loved money even more. The taxes he could raise on a market like that were remarkable and Mercia had no real ports.

‘Oh yes.’ William answered. ‘There were two spice merchants at the market I went to, and their prices were half what you are paying, if not a quarter…’

Liam brooded from where he sat far lower down the table than his younger brother. What on earth could they be talking about, what could his brat of a brother possibly know that made him worth talking to? He watched as William finally got up from the table and unrolled his pallet and settled down for the night. He would have to think of some way to deal with dear little William.

The first time Liam tried to beat him up again was in Shrewsbury, in the main hall of Lord Athelstan. They had been finishing the morning meal when Liam had pushed Wiliaim off of his chair and sent him flying. The great brute had laughed and whined, ‘it was only a joke…’ Lady Athelflaed was not impressed and ordered them to take their fight outside. Lady Anne was terrified, Liam had always beaten William in any fight, but Athelflaed smiled at Anne and William was grinning, grinning like a wolf that had seen a lamb without protection. He was bouncing on his feet, light and quick.

It wasn’t a fight, it was a thrashing. Liam had always used his strength and bulk instead of skill. William heard Olaf’s voice, ‘you are faster than they are boy, use it, use your speed.’ Every time Liam came anywhere near landing a punch or a hit, William had vanished, ducked, twisted out the way, but not before landing a blow for himself. Liam looked like a great lumbering ox, swinging wildly and foolishly, a drunken man not capable of walking, a complete fool. The warriors around were cheering on first one then the other.

Liam finally got a hit into William’s stomach, hard enough to send the younger man flying onto the ground with a whooph as all the air was knocked from him. William was spread out on the ground, regaining his breath. At that point he was grateful he’d taken off his over tunic and given it to his mother, he wouldn’t want it damaged. Winded, he lay still for a moment but couldn’t believe his luck when Liam came over to give him another kick. The warriors hissed at Liam: this was supposed to be a friendly fight, not a brawl…but William had been taught a few tricks by Olaf. He rolled with the kick then launched his own attack, his right foot catching his older brother under the ribs and sending him flying across the courtyard. He then did a shoulder spring up and back onto his feet, (thank you Xander, he thought, remembering the days the warrior had spent teaching him that move).

Liam then disgraced himself completely and pulled a blade. He aimed for his bother’s back but was caught up short by Godwin, the master at arms.

‘There’s a difference between a tussle and drawing a weapon, especially in front of the Lady,’ the man hissed at Liam and after disarming him, flung him away as if he were so much rubbish.

‘You did well, William.’

‘Thank you sir, I had good teachers.’

The King was looking at William and signalled him over. William kneeled before him and bowed. The king offered his ring for William to kiss.

‘There’s a place here for you as one of my hearth troops if you want, William.’

‘Thank you my lord, I will think about it seriously.’

‘Let me know tonight.’

‘I will, sire.’

Lady Anne was delighted, Liam furious. His crawling weed of a brother had all the luck.

‘He makes his own,’ Anne said quietly when Liam complained to her. ‘He earned that offer, you shouldn’t have drawn the blade. Be thankful the King was in a generous mood, drawing steel in his presence normally gets you thrashed.’

William watched as his mother walked away from Liam. It wouldn’t be safe for him to return to his brother’s hall for a while; perhaps he should stay.

‘If I stay, what will you do, mother?’ He asked her quietly when she was sitting in the sun.

‘I’m staying: Athelwyn has offered me a position as one of her ladies and I have nowhere else to go. And I really can’t bear to live under Harold’s roof a day longer.’

‘What about the dower house? You said you would live there when Stephen died and Harold married.’

‘I had to sell it to raise your ransom, William.’

‘You raised that money? I thought my brothers…’

‘They refused: just like Tara’s family, there was no honour in any of them.’

‘In that case, we’ll both stay here. I just hope I never have to face Connor or Xander across a battlefield.’

‘And if you did?’

‘My oath would be to Mercia, mother, and I wouldn’t break that.’

He was a man now with a man’s place in a King’s hall and Liam had shown his true, coward’s colours. Life was sweet.

Buffy looked at the outside of her Hall. it had been two months since she had ridden in and taken her place in her own lands. Robin had done a fine and noble job but he was needed with Faith, and from what tales she heard they were getting on very well. Maybe there would be another wedding in the offing soon? She prayed regularly to the Gods that William had made it safely home: she would know for sure in another four months. Connor would be home from his summer voyage and there would be a double wedding to celebrate. She caressed her stomach. She knew there was new life there, but it was far too soon for anyone else to be told yet. It was just a hope until the fourth month, but Buffy had no doubt. Girl or Boy, her halls would have an heir.

The time flew past and Buffy’s waist swelled nicely. Her woman, Kelda, smiled and held her hair out of the way during the first months, when nothing would stay in her stomach until near noon. She had taken to having ginger tea first thing and that had settled the symptoms. Buffy blossomed. She loved the freedom of her own hall, no thought here as to what Connor might or might not want. Her women worked hard and her hearth troop were loyal. She paid two young soldiers to stay and help defend the halls if needed. They trained the rest of them up to standard as well.

Kelda mothered everyone. She hustled and bustled, making Buffy rest whenever she needed. Nothing was ever said about the man’s shirt that shared Buffy’s shut bed, or the faraway look in their lady’s eyes some days.


Kelda and Buffy had spring cleaned the whole hall, ensuring that all the rushes were changed and the linens were washed. The hall was well into its summer work, butter and cheese made at their time. Huge stomachs of good salted butter hung in the dairy and the women spent their days outside sewing small clothes for the new arrival. The basket weaver was making her a fine crib, rich in patterns, as befitted the Heir to a great holding.

At Connor’s hall Willow and Tara shared the work. Helga and Anya had prepared the great lists of food they would need for the wedding feast; messages had been sent, and invitations offered to any and all around. Hafdan and Skapti had already accepted, as had Lord Leif: they would have a houseful. They had the men building temporary booths to house all the guests and they would be digging a couple of extra middens.

A second kale-yard had been given to the pigs to dig over ready for a late planting, so there would be plenty of cabbages and kale for the banquet.


The women of the hall were busy all summer, each to their own tasks. Jon and Andrew had been kept running hither and yon, and storehouses were beginning to groan with the amount of stuff being stacked ready for the ten days of feasting that would accompany the wedding.

In the evenings Tara and Willow sewed the wedding clothes. New dresses for the both of them: one in deepest blue for Tara, the other in green for willow, and a new tunic for Connor. It was of a dark red linen that Buffy had found in the store chest. She knew it would suit him and had left it for them when she moved home. She had also left length after length of the finest tablet weave Tara had ever seen: fine gifts for her new daughters. It was strange to think that Buffy would soon legally be her mother: she had a real family, and one that loved her.

Willow and Tara had agreed that they would share Connor’s bed together. If he wanted two wives that’s what he would have. They hadn’t told him yet though. They hadn’t seen him since he’d left to take William home. But they would not be separated. Tara and Willow shared a bed now, and would continue to do so.

‘I want children,’ Tara whispered one night to Willow.

‘So do I,’ Willow answered, ‘but I think we should take it in turns. We flow together and I don’t want us both delivering our child to the world the same day or even the same week. I want you there holding my hand when I need you.’

Tara giggled at the thought. ‘One of us can take the potion for a month, how does that sound?’

‘Good: who goes first?’

‘Don’t you think Connor should be consulted?’ Tara asked.

Willow laughed at the thought. ‘He’s getting two of us to warm him and keep him busy: he can concentrate on that, you and I will fill the hall with children,’ she whispered before falling asleep.


Tara had stopped wearing her wimple, she wore just a silk cap that Buffy had given her, and she was learning the complex braids women wore in their hair. Her father and siblings wouldn’t recognise her now. The kindness of all around her had rid her of her stammer and she was growing more and more confident of her place in their world. She was second only to Willow in the hall with Connor away; Helga had been sweet, talking to her about the wedding night, warning her it would be a little painful the first time, and trying to guide her through what was expected as she had no mother to talk to her.
Willow had surprised Tara though: she had told the shy Saxon woman it wouldn’t be her first time, she’d had a lover years before when she’d been away studying. But Connor would be getting one virgin on his wedding night.

Tara could make no sense of the scratches on the piece of wood: she had been the only one home that morning, overseeing the cooking. Anya had been to the mill, Helga to the fields and Willow away to a nearby farm where the woman was due to have her child. She had been gone two days. Tara wasn’t worried, Willow had sent a rider to let her know of the delay.

She had thought the messenger was from Willow again, but no, it was from Buffy’s hall. Tara made sure that the horse was cared for and gave the man food and drink. He had told her the words weren’t important and that Buffy had been well when he’d left her the day before.

Willow arrived home just before sunset, tired but happy. The woman she’d been helping had finally delivered healthy twins and her husband had been delighted. She had stayed long enough to ensure no more problems then made her way back along the path to her own hall and hearth. Willow was surprised to see they had a guest but Tara was coping very well. All had been done properly. The last year had made a butterfly from the chrysalis that had arrived, or should that be a swan from the cygnet?

Tara held out the birch bark to Willow after the tired Nana had eaten her fill. Extra candles were lit to ensure every precious word was read correctly.

‘Tara and Willow, my dear friends.
I send you greetings from my home. I hope all is well there, as it is here. I have to tell you that four months have passed since Connor pulled away and I still grieve over William’s going.
But I have fine and great news. I have been blessed by Freya and Frigga and carry new life…’

Willow could read no further for the whoops of joy ringing out around the hall. It took a few minutes to settle everyone down again before she continued.

‘I have a boon to ask. Would it be possible for me to stay after the wedding, to have my child there? I can think of no-one I would rather attend me than you Willow, and I know things will be better with the two of you.

‘Anya I give you my regards as well and to Helga, my love. I can do no better than the true sisters the gods sent me.

Buffy’

Tara and Willow grinned at one another, and Tara turned to the messenger.
‘Tell your mistress that we will be well prepared for her visit and she is to bring everything she needs for a long stay.’

The man nodded his thanks, repeating the message exactly. He would return to Buffy on the morn.

Tara thought Buffy looked wonderful when she stepped down from the wagon. She looked fit and healthy, in fact she was positively glowing in her pregnancy, full of life and carrying well. Tara was becoming every inch the healer; knowing that she would be attending Buffy later she was checking her out without even meaning to. She laughed at the changes the last year and a half had wrought in the shy saxon maid she had been.

Buffy hurried over and hugged Tara and Willow tightly before they had a chance to get to her, still graceful despite the growth in her belly.

‘I am so glad to see you both. I bought Kelda with me,’ indicating the older woman who was dismounting from her horse. ‘She’s been my right hand since I returned home. I have gifts as well.’

Willow laughed at the babbling Buffy. She seemed so cheerful, but it was the false cheerfulness someone put on when trying not to break. They could both feel the deep sadness in her.

Willow and Tara settled Buffy into the hall. They had originally planned on putting her back in her own sleeping area but Tara had given Buffy William’s old space for the duration of her stay, lower than her rank demanded but she thought the memories might bring her comfort. Buffy smiled at them both.

‘Thank you’ she said gently. ‘I miss him still and always will, and this will bring back some wonderful memories and that’s what I need now, to remember the good times.’



Buffy had noticed the changes from when this had been her home. They were good ones, every one was noted and Buffy was happy they had made it their own home and not just kept it as she had had it. Willow and Tara had moved into the shut bed and freed up their spaces on the benches, and Anya had moved up a space as well. The place was packed to the rafters with food, ready for the feasting that was to happen soon. Willow and Tara were both excited and anxious: excited about the wedding and anxious about whether the feast would be good enough. Buffy had looked over all their arrangements and had found there was nothing left to do: but thought it kind of them to ask her. Mead and ale had been brewed in huge quantities and food readied enough to feed the whole district.

It felt strange to be back in Connor’s hall and Buffy had to admit she was glad she had her own life now. They had grown and separated as was right.

The men had been gone for over seven months and were expected back at any time. Willow was a little cross, having expected Connor back in time for the autumn work, but they had had a message in the summer saying he was headed down to the Francs with a good cargo and would be back after harvest. Tara had threatened to start the wedding without him at one point. But she would get used to the waiting: they all had. Anya was just getting grumpy at the lack of sex and bets were beginning to be taken about how long she would keep Xander in bed once he was home. The longest was a week.

The women were sitting in the hall waiting for Andrew and Jon to start setting up the tables, chatting about the upcoming marriage, where they were going to pick all the flowers to decorate the hall with, and the birth of Buffy’s child. Willow and Tara had been reluctant to mention William’s name but not Anya. She was the one that had said how sad it was that he would never see his baby, and maybe Xander could be persuaded to kidnap him again, she would withhold sex from him if it were needed to bring him round. Buffy just burst out laughing. Anya’s frank and straightforward Rus ways were exactly what she needed, no tiptoeing around the fact that her child would never know its father, just the plain truth.

The conversation was interrupted by the blowing of the lookout horn. In the encroaching dusk a ship could be seen. There was a dark sail on the horizon. Willow and Tara ran out of the hall without waiting to put their cloaks on to light the signal fires. Horns sounded out again. It was Connor!!

Buffy followed at a more sedate and gentle pace: she had no wish to fall in her condition. Jon offered her his hand. The gently spoken Irish lad had been with her family since he was a child of five summers, sold into slavery to allow his mother to buy food for his younger brothers and sisters. He loved his lady Buffy and always had. His eyes had shone to see her so happy, he was hoping to ask her to take him back to her hall with her. He missed his gentle lady and Andrew was getting harder and harder to deal with.

Buffy was grateful for his solicitude, she felt ungainly and awkward as she made her way through the deepening gloom to the quayside. The torches were already lighting the way when the prow of the longship appeared in alongside. Anxious faces looked down into the ship to be met with equally anxious ones looking up at those waiting for them.

Connor visibly relaxed when he saw Willow and Tara. His heart felt lighter than it had for months knowing they were alive and well. Willing hands made light work of the unloading and soon the whole party were on their way back to the hall.

Connor walked on ahead, almost missing the fact that his stepmother was in the crowd that greeted them. He looked around to check everyone was following and saw Buffy holding onto Jon’s arm as she walked.

‘Buffy!’ he cried and ran back to her, swinging her up into his arms. That was when he realised that she was pregnant, very pregnant.

‘William’s?’

‘Yes,’ she replied quietly. ‘It’s good to see you home, Connor. Willow and Tara said I can stay until after the child comes,’ she added more cheerfully.

‘And so you should, you will always be welcome in our hall. I left him fit and well and with his family. I gave him the gifts you sent.’

‘For that I am glad; now come on Connor, you were almost late for your own wedding!’ she laughed and let go of her stepson’s hand as he went back to his own women. Jon escorted her up to the hall and made sure she was well settled. It seemed strange to hear another welcome Connor back and give the hall to his keeping. She was just one of the guests, as was right and proper.


It was a week later that they prepared for the wedding.

The women had set up a bath house outside and everyone was kept very busy running to and fro with hot water so that everyone could bathe and prepare for the next day. Connor had been banished to sleep in one of the tents, leaving Willow and Tara in the bed for the last time as single women. Their dresses were carefully folded on the table, and their jewellery was waiting for the morn.

Helga and Anya spent the morning helping them braid and prepare their hair. Tara had looked uncomfortable as the complex braids were put in and Anya noticed that something was wrong.

‘You should be smiling, and not have haunted eyes,’ she said determinedly.

‘It’s traditional with my p-people for a new b-bride to wear her hair l-loose to show that she is a virgin, but I don’t want to upset anyone,’ she stammered out.

‘Why didn’t you say something? We’re not trying to turn you into something you’re not,’ Willow said. ‘We didn’t know, you should have said.’

Tara smiled, but Anya was already ripping out all braids and pulling a comb through her locks. Anya smiled and reached for a piece of silk and started rubbing it down the dark blond strands. Tara wondered what she was doing that for and looked puzzled.

‘It makes your hair shine,’ Helga explained and then had to get out the way as Buffy and her helpers came in with armfuls of greenery and flowers to decorate the place up.
It was early afternoon by the time Connor was allowed back into the hall and when he entered he felt as though his breath had been ripped from his body when he saw the two women waiting for him. Willow had a full hangerock in the most wonderful green, and Tara had been dressed in the Saxon style, with full embroidery around the hem of her underdress. He wanted to rush to them and take them both there and then, but understood that he had to go through the marriage first.

Connor stood before friends and family and formally swore on Lord Leif’s armring that Willow was his first wife. He presented her with the keys to the house. Then turning to Tara he swore that she was his true second wife. The cheers rang in the hall when the oaths and promises were completed and they all sat down to the feast that had been prepared for them.

The tables were piled high with meat fish and fruit: expensive imports jostled with trenchers filled with white bread and fresh butter. The mead flowed like water from the spring and the party continued for most of the night.

Before the tables were cleared for the dancing the blacksmith came into the hall carrying his hammer. He laid it first in Willow’s lap and then into Tara’s. Tara had been warned about the fertility rite and managed not to blush too much. There were ribald comments all around about Connor being expected to perform twice that night, but they were taken in good part. Tara blushed beautifully: she was so happy. Willow and she had sat one either side of Connor; she had managed to eat some of the glorious food set before them, and she, Willow and Connor had shared a single horn of mead, which had been refilled regularly throughout the evening.

Eirik had sat next to Buffy during the meal. He had chatted to her about the year’s trading and the fact that his mother was nagging at him to take another wife. His first had died in childbirth two years ago. Buffy gave him a look at that comment and Eirik went bright red. He had forgotten Buffy’s condition. Buffy thought he was sweet as he tried to get himself out of trouble.

‘If you’re digging yourself out my friend, its in the other direction,’ she laughed.

‘He did love you, you know.’ Eirik said to her quietly.

‘I know and the memory of that love will keep me happy for the rest of my life. I must admit though I do hope his child has his eyes, it would be lovely to see them again.’

Eirik squeezed her hand and refilled her cup, allowing her to regain her composure.

Willow and Tara stood up from the tables, and the other women joined them. A curtain was hung across the hall to shelter a space for them to undress in. Anya helped Tara and Helga undressed Willow; leaving them in their thin under-dresses they pulled the blankets aside and let the two women crawl into the bed. The sheets had been sprinkled with flowers and there were more flowers over the blankets; the whole thing smelled sweet and fresh.

Connor was stripped down to his undershirt by the men before they pulled back the curtain and shoved him into bed with his two brides. The cat-calls and laughter followed everyone outside, leaving just Buffy, Helga and Anya in the hall to ensure the marriage was consummated.

The party continued outside, in and amongst the tents. While Connor and his wives shut their bed against the world.

Tara was shaking, she had been warned what to expect but she was still nervous. Willow was kissing her and stroking her back, trying to calm her down. They looked up as Connor joined them and shut up the bed behind him. The wooden doors closing out the world and leaving just the three of them.

‘Just the witnesses left in the hall,’ he whispered, ‘the others have gone.’

Tara gulped. She knew she was silly to be so frightened, and Willow had introduced her to some of the pleasure of the bed, but to be faced with a man in such an obvious state of arousal was scary. She leaned into Willow slightly, reassured by the hands rubbing her back. The last few months had changed so much for her, but she was still the timid Saxon maiden that had arrived at this hall tonight for marriage. She was grateful for Helga’s quiet patience and explanations, but was still scared: what if she didn’t please Connor? Would he get rid of her?

Willow smiled over Tara’s shoulder to Connor and then pulled Tara into a deep passionate kiss, temporarily making her forget her fears.


Connor wrested off his shirt, leaving himself totally naked to his wives, the small oil lamp gave them just enough light to see each other with. Highly aroused at the intimated display of affection between the two women he’d just witnessed he reached forward and freed the tie around Tara’s neck, loosening it enough to slip the thin linen over her shoulder, allowing him to see her beautiful luscious breasts for the first time. Willow traced Tara’s pulse points with her tongue until he pulled her towards him to kiss her deeply, lifting her under-dress clear of her buttocks and over her head. The only one left with any clothes on at all was Tara so Willow lifted the blue linen off over Tara’s head gently, leaving all three of them naked.

Connor grasped Tara’s hand and pulled it to him, allowing her to explore his chest: she brushed her fingers against his flat nipples and rubbed them the way Willow liked and relaxed a little as he hissed in pleasure, eyes closing from the obvious enjoyment of her attentions.

Opening his eyes to look between the two sister-wives Connor parted his lips and mouthed silently ‘Who first?’ and Willow pointed at Tara, knowing if they left her to second the poor woman wouldn’t be in a fit state for what was about to happen. Willow stroked her hair as she felt Tara getting nervous again while Connor stretched Tara down on her back, allowing Willow to settle on her far side. Chastely he brushed his lips across Willow’s then knelt above Tara to begin peppering kisses her neck to the rise of her breasts.


Taking one pert nipple into his mouth , he suckled it into a hard, needy peek. While watching Willow do the same to its twin. Tara had her hands on his back, stroking his firm flesh all the way down to his buttocks and moaned her approval as he arched into her touch, his hard cock standing proud from his body and digging into her shapely belly.
Connor wondered just how beautiful she would look with that feminine shape swollen even more from his child and he couldn’t wait any longer. Kissing her tenderly, his tongue came out to glide and caress the seam of her lips begging for entrance. As she parted them to draw breath, he slipped inside enjoying her sweet taste as her tongue eagerly tangled with his. Connor had found his first entrance and welcome in her body. Willow heightened the sensations coursing through her husband and lover, stroking Connor’s firm backside with one hand while fondling first one then the other of Tara’s supple breasts. The shy Saxon now groaned with desire into Connor’s mouth as his hand traced its way lovingly down her side and between her legs. Using his knee to part her thighs and his fingers found her most secret of places to begin stroking her nubbin with his thumb feeling it swell beneath his ministrations. Sliding his first two fingers between her feminine folds, he was pleased to encounter her woman’s dew coating her sex thickly, allowing him to slide a single finger inside her tight channel, in search of the small, spongy bundle of nerves that would send her to paradise. When he came in contact with the unbroken membrane of her innocence he felt himself hardened even more if that were possible. Connor looking deep into Tara’s dark eyes he whispered his question

‘Ready?’

As she nodded, he removed his fingers from her to grasp his shaft and position himself at her moist entrance. His ragged breaths of anticipation matched her own as he gently nudged the head of his cock inside her silky, slick hole. He could feel Willow’s hands on his back and stilled for one second to look at his other wife now down on her knees staring at them both. She leaned in to give him a sound kiss then pulled away so he could turn his attention back to Tara.


Watching her face carefully for any sign of distress, he slowly inched a quarter of himself inside her, knowing his girth and length were beyond the average man . she was untried and so tight, the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Gritting his teeth at the fist-like feel of her channel, it was incomparable to anything else and he fought hard against the instinct to simply begin thrusting wildly within her.

Willow caught Tara’s eye, and as she nodded her readiness, Willow placed her hands on Connor’s hips, and pushed firmly until he was fully seated inside Tara knowing it was best to make it quick.

Tara immediately winced from the pain as her maidenhead tore and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears threatening to spill at bay while Connor rested for a few moments, allowing her body time to adjust to his size. When at last she relaxed, her lids fluttered open to see a look of lust mingled with regret in her husband’s kind brown eyes over causing her discomfort. Smiling her reassurance to him as a single tear slid free, she rocked her hips experimentally, letting him know everything was all right. Her experience with Willow was pleasurable to be sure, but with a man, THIS man, she’d never felt this full, this replete. The sensations he evoked deep within her womb were intense and oh so fulfilling as they pulsed through every nerve of her core.
Wiping away the tear from her cheek with a gentle thumb, Connor dipped his head to capture her lips, letting his hips set the oldest rhythm known to man. It wasn’t long before she was writhing beneath him in ecstasy, meeting his thrusting hips and gasping from the pleasure he bestowed her. Every noise she made, the tiny mewls, the sighs of contentment and the pleas for ‘more’ enflamed his need. He could feel his climax nearing and when she suddenly clamped down on his throbbing member and screamed her orgasm into his mouth, he let go, spreading his seed within her ravenous womb while revelling in the feel of his own, long awaited release.


Connor collapsed on top of her, trying to support the bulk of his weight on his forearms. He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck and watched as Willow was pleasured herself on Tara’s outstretched hand, desperately trying to bring herself closer and closer to bliss.He kissed Tara deeply and rolled off onto his back praying to Frey to restore his energy swiftly in order to please his first wife soon.

Before he could blink, Willow sat straight up and straddled his hips with her slender thighs, settling her drenched centre at the base of his sex. A sated Tara moved towards them while removing the white sheepskin from underneath her. It was stained with virgin’s blood as it should be, and she threw it she threw it out of the door towards the waiting women. Their jubilant shouts were suddenly closed off as the door shut back again, leaving the trio cocooned in the love they were sharing on this special night

Looking down at Connor, Willow told him

‘It’s not my first time Connor, you know that.’ She, too, was nervous about this, but she truly loved Connor, had for years and didn’t want to spoil this magical moment they had both waited so long for.

‘I know, but they won’t,’ he answered quietly, sitting up to kiss her lips. He withdrew a knife he’d hidden beneath the goose feather bed. He knew about the attack Willow had survived, and there was no way he was going to have his beloved first wife shamed on this day. He reached around Willow to make a shallow cut on the inside of his own thigh just deeply enough for the blood to make a stain to match the one on Tara’s sheepskin.
‘I remembered from all those years ago when you told us what had happened. Now we three are the only ones who will ever know that this wasn’t your first time. And if anyone says different, the three women out there can swear they saw the blood.’
Willow nodded gratefully and drew him into another kiss. It was the greatest kindness he could have shown.

Her flame red hair brushed his chest, setting his body on fire again. Tara seemed to have lost all her shyness as she kissed any part of his skin that she could reach. Her fingers went searching down between his body and Willow’s, finding his cock where it was hardening against Willow’s stomach. Wrapping her fingers around it, she pumped him up and down, squeezing him harder until he was solid once more, watching in fascination as her sister wife impaled herself on their husband’s erection.


Willow rode him slowly, feeling Tara’s fingers at the point where her body joined Connor’s, her fingers doing delicious things to magnify every sensation of their love making. She could feel her climax building swiftly, her inner walls rippling to constrict and milk his shaft. He grabbed her hips and thrust into her harshly, taking over the pace of their coupling as Tara removed her hand to watch them in awe.


Connor felt his own cock swelling anew inside her to bursting point, filling his beloved Willow with his life giving seed, a roar of satisfaction ripping from his throat.
Willow leaned forward to kiss him first and then Tara. His brown haired wife then snuggled into one side and Willow the other, both women pulling the blankets up around their shoulders. He reached below him and pulled out the second sheepskin, throwing it out to join the first.
Willow and Tara joined hands across Connor’s chest, their fingers interlinking, their heads cushioned on his shoulders, their thighs pinning him down.


He kissed each of their heads and allowed himself to drift off with the lingering knowledge that he was loved like no other man. If this was how William had felt with Buffy, he wondered how the Saxon had every brought himself to have left her. His heart went out to the man now an ocean away as well as his step mother.

In the early morning when they awoke Tara and Willow found the silver tortoise broaches waiting with the rest of their clothes, Connor’s step mother standing to one side.

‘A valuable gift, to replace the one he took from you last night.’ Buffy said formally and left the near empty hall to join the party outside.

Buffy made her way into the bright sunshine that bathed the hall yard with golden light. She had placed the two sheepskins against the wall where anyone could see them and then wondered over to where Leif and Hafden were sitting enjoying the sunshine and a games of Hnefatafl. They had a jug of warm pine tea between them and were sharing the same cup. A wooden plate contained the remnanats of bread and cheese.

‘Good morning' she said with a smile drawing both men’s attention away from the board

Hafdan lifted the cup in salute. He had found it hard to face the Lady Buffy in her condition; a part of him had hoped that she would accept his offers of marriage, but she had always refused and now, with her so obviously carrying a child he had no chance. Unless of course she became desperate for someone to support her and the child: that however was highly unlikely. Lord Leif had congratulated her already and offered to send birthing gifts when the child finally showed itself in the winter. So Hafdan resolved to be a good friend to the lady and perhaps if he was lucky, he too would find someone half as wonderful. He outdid her in years anyway, and his own children were grown.

Leif collected a bench for Buffy from inside the tent to rest, covering it in a huge sheepskin and putting another on the ground for her feet. His own Lady was awaiting the birth of their newest grandchild at home and was the only one of the invited guests to have to send apologies. The party had been a credit to Connor and his new wives, not that that was a surprise: this hall had always been famous for the quality of its celebrations since Buffy had taken the keys. It was good to see that Connor's wives were continuing that tradition.

Tara and Willow exited the hall to cheers from the people awake. Willow smiled but Tara blushed sweetly: she had always been very shy and to know that everyone had been aware of last night's activities had been mortifying. The sight of the skins on show deepened the red in her cheeks.

Leif smiled at the two women and excusing himself from Buffy’s company, went over to them.

‘Congratulations on your marriages, my ladies,’ he said. ‘I look forward to tonight's feast and dancing.’

‘My thanks lord Leif,’ Willow replied. Tara smiled and wandered off towards Anya and Alec. She wanted to see if the forthright woman had any advice as to how to please Connor in bed. Now that she was married she could ask, maids weren’t supposed to know about that sort of thing.

Willow watched her walk away, turned back to her guests and ensured that they had everything they needed. It was her duty now, she was First Wife of this hall. Buffy smiled across at her, and reassured her dearest friend that she was perfectly well and enjoying the sunshine.

Willow circulated around the wakening guests, overseeing the breaking of fasts and the cooking of the next feast. There were entertainments to plan and bread to bake. Jon and Andrew had been running themselves ragged for days and the mill hadn't stopped for a week. But Willow knew she was prevaricating, she had to tell Tara the truth and manoeuvred the pair of them back into the nearly empty hall.

Willow asked Helga very quietly to give them a little time and Helga shepherded the children out into the sunshine with the promise of helping her with the honey cakes.
Willow looked at Tara and took a huge breath.

‘Tara, sweetie, I need to talk to you: there should be no lies between us and I have lied to you.’

‘Over what, Willow? Don't you care for me: is that what this is about?’ The fear was evident in the younger woman’s voice.

‘Oh goddess no: I love you and I love Connor, it’s about last night. Connor covering for me, protecting my name,’ she whispered.

‘What about it? You told me that you had a lover.’

‘I had a love, not a lover, and we went for a walk in the woods, then he and I were attacked: the wolfsheads killed Sven and beat and raped me. I could never face what happened, Buffy nursed me herself and Connor took a small party out and found them. He ensured that they didn't have a chance to tell anyone what they had done. I'm sorry I lied to you: I just couldn’t tell anyone.’ There were tears in the red-haired woman's eyes as she spoke.

Tara took the woman in her arms and rocked her. They felt another pair of arms around them and looked up into the compassionate deep brown eyes of their husband.

‘You've told her.’ It was more a statement than a question and Willow nodded.

‘It’s over now, there is no-one left who knows anything: at least no-one who will talk’

Willow nodded and rubbed her eyes. Connor gently wiped away the offending water and kissed her eyelids.

‘Do you forgive me for lying?’ She asked Tara.

Buffy looked in at the door and saw the three of them cuddling in close and smiled. It was wonderful to see a family so happy with each other.

‘Of course I do. I totally understand, and I think you are wonderful. Thank you for trusting me with the truth now; come on, we have guests to see to and you really shouldn’t cry in public, Willow, you just don’t have the complexion to make it look enchanting. I’ll see to the hall, you go wash your face.’ She added, making Willow laugh.


Tara went outside again, leaving Willow and their husband together and gently took over the reins of the household, entertaining the other guests and ensuring the cooking was all underway properly. Helga smiled at the sight. It was good to see Tara becoming every inch the Lady.


The feasting continued for another four days and nights. The days were full of feasting and fun, the evenings full of beer and tales and for Tara and Willow and Connor the nights full of loving.

Connor woke earlier than usual on the day after the wedding feasts were over. He was needed to fare-well his guests. Lord Leif would be the first to leave, taking his own ship home and carrying the guests who lived in that direction with him, including Kelda, who was needed to oversee Buffy’s hall. Connor certainly needed to be awake to send off the local Jarl.

He woke alone as usual, Willow and Tara having risen early enough to help with the making of the early meal. He could see Willow was busy with her various tasks about the house, making her normal brew of herbs through the open doors of his bed.

Connor knew the cup she was using and it had only one purpose. He was livid. Willow was busy taking the women's brew: she didn't want his child. He flew out of the shut bed and stormed over to where Willow had set the cup down and literally threw it across the room. Willow was stunned. She rarely saw this side of her husband and it frightened her.

‘How dare you?!! You are my wife Willow, and I expect all duties from you.’

Buffy started laughing: she had overheard the whole conversation and quickly realised what had happened. She had been going to advise Willow and Tara to take it in turns to have a child, but thought better of her interference; however on this occasion, mother may know best and she wandered over to the arguing couple.

‘Don't laugh, mother, it is not funny that she denies my child…’

Buffy looked at the tearful Willow and rested her hand on her aching back. She had been on her feet far too much in the last few days and she really didn't need the groom and one of his wives fighting before the wedding was over or the guests had left. She waddled slowly up to Connor and put restraining hand on his arm.

‘You are frightening not only Willow but Tara as well,’ she pointed out, making her point by indicating Tara huddled in the corner, wide eyed and crying at Connor's harsh words. His raised voice had brought back terrifying memories of her father's hall.

Connor looked at the frightened vision of his second wife and took a deep calming breath.
Buffy was the voice of sense. Buffy called Helga to come and take care of Tara and when the sensible older woman had escorted the skittish girl outside she turned back to her son and daughter-in-law.

‘Now, what is this all about?’

‘It’s her,’ Connor spat. He was devastated. He had loved Willow for years and to see her reject him so quickly after the wedding was almost too much to bear.

‘What has she done that has distressed you so much, Connor? Willow loves you, she has since she came to this hall, she would never do anything to upset you deliberately.’

‘She's taking the brew,’ his words were torn out of his throat as though they burst on the way from his chest.

‘Willow, what do you say?’

‘I am taking the brew - but there is a reason,’ when Connor looked as though he had been stabbed in the heart. This was his wedding week and he was already disgraced by his wife.

‘Why, Willow, why would you reject the Goddess’ blessing if she sent you my child?’ His heart was in his eyes, he looked distraught.

‘Tara and I talked, we didn't want to deliver you a child at the same time, we wanted each other there to be midwife when the time came. We couldn't do that if we were delivering on the same day. So we thought that one of us could take the potion for a few weeks then we would have the children, if we were blessed, at different times.’

Connor realised what a dreadful mistake he had made and fell to his knees and hugged Willow close, begging for forgiveness.

‘I think,’ Buffy started, ‘that you have both learnt an important lesson. If you keep talking and are scrupulously honest with each other you will have a far stronger marriage. It’s hard, but could you imagine how you would feel at this moment if this had happened and nothing had been said? Connor would always wonder if you truly wanted him and Willow would wonder what she had done to upset you when you threw her dark looks. Talk to one another, children. Now make up and then calm down the softest and gentlest of your family.’

When the last guests had gone and the debris was cleared up, Tara and Willow waved Connor off for an autumn journey to the Thing and the hall settled down to a quiet, gentle routine.

The pig-kill brought back fond memories for Buffy, of poor William getting bruised and battered, and of his first night in what had been her home. She spent time telling their child about the wonderful man it’s father was. On a thong around her neck was the ring he'd made her. Her hands had swollen too much for her to wear it but she wouldn't be parted from the treasure, even on bath night.

As the pregnancy continued Buffy was very grateful for Tara and Willow's kindnesses. She never felt the visitor and they were always there for her quiet times.

The solstice brought her memories of her first night in William’s arms and she spent even more time stroking her swollen belly. There were gifts for all and the women of the hall had made wonderful swaddling clothes ready for the new arrival.

The first flowers of the year, braving the snows to show their heads and their beauty, brought Buffy to her child-bed. The men were banished from the top end of the hall and told to keep the children occupied and away from the working women.

Connor winced and shuddered at every scream and yell that came from Buffy, sheltered by the blankets strung on lines across the hall to give her privacy. The sight of Tara coming through the flimsy barrier brought them all to their feet, but she just needed cold water to bathe Buffy’s face and small beer for the women to drink.

Andrew and Jon went quietly about their work. Jon worried about Buffy; he knew women could die giving birth and he preyed to Freya that she would survive.

Anya’s bright face popping through and asking them to sharpen a knife to a fine edge made Connor feel the blood drain from his face, but he did as he was asked.

It was heading towards evening, and Xander was preparing the evening meal when they all heard the clear crisp cry of a new-born child. There were tears in the eyes of each of the men. Olaf shook Connor’s hand hard and buffeted the man on the back. ‘I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl?’

‘We’ll find out when they lower the blankets,’ he answered pitifully. He was cold and wanted to get by the big fire. He also didn’t want to even think about either Willow or Tara going through the pain that the screams had told him Buffy had been enduring. Not that they had a choice: both of his wives were carrying his children now. Part of him wished that they had continued with the potion. How did women bear it?

Xander served them all up a stew and bread, which they ate quietly before going to see the new arrival.

‘You have a sister, Connor.’ He looked at the bundle in Buffy’s arms. She was fast asleep, contentedly full from her first feed.

‘Hello little one, your daddy would have been so proud.’ He whispered before turning to the hall. ‘I have a sister!’

The waiting throng cheered and then quietened down as they woke the little one.

‘What’s her name, Buffy?’

‘Nordlys, after the northern lights we shared and Anne, after his mother.’

Welcome to my hall Nordlys Anne,’ Connor said formally and then left Buffy to her sleep.

William and Anne were given their own sleeping areas in the hall: William on a pallet near the fire with the rest of the hearth troop and Anne in one of the beds shared by the ladies in the separate hall put aside for their use. Both had their places at the tables, well above the salt. And both began to make friends amongst those that surrounded the Lord and Lady of Mercia. Brother Giles stayed close to his lady Anne, working in the small chapel attached to the main hall as well as the priory in the centre of the town.

They soon settled into the routine of the King’s Hall in Shrewsbury. The hall was as large as any he had seen and kept as well as Buffy’s had been. Here was food enough for all and the King and his lady were good and kind people. William soon returned to the routine of his childhood: church every morning, weapons practice in the afternoon. Sitting with his mother talking and playing chess or being called to talk at Athelred’s side, to listen to the discussions. He didn’t let his hard-earned skill with weapons lapse: William could be seen out in the practice fields at every opportunity, mastering spear and sword. Athelred watched for some time before encouraging some of his more experienced hearth troops to join the lad and expand his experience. William might be the youngest of his father’s sons but as far as Athelred was concerned he was the best.

Anne loved her life with her lady Athelflaed. She bloomed under the gentleness and care of her childhood mistress and the presence of her beloved William. She was so proud of her boy as he had become a man and if she noticed the shadows in his eyes sometimes she said nothing, but wore the brooch where he could easily see it.

Lady Anne found a loom that had been left empty for more than a week; she asked for, and received, permission to warp it and use it. William came across his mother dancing across the beams as she strung thread after thread along the bar. He tried to help but was soon sent packing as his calloused hands caught yarn and heddle-string alike. He ended up just passing pieces of wood and string to her as she asked for them. He loved seeing her eyes shine so much from the simple joy of working with her hands. Her weaving, once started, was much admired for its intricacy and it was soon much sought after. She was even asked to oversee the weaving of a cloak-length for the King himself. It was something she took great pride in doing well, her deft fingers pulling weft through warp and moving heddles to produce a fine and glorious cloth for the king.



William was proving to be a fine and clever fighter, as well as a strong voice in the council at the King’s table. Athelred listened to his words, especially where it came to the Norse-folk; he had more experience with them than any of the others that sat with him. William spoke quietly and thoughtfully, his intelligence shining through. Though he could wound with his tongue when annoyed.


It was the middle of the afternoon when a farmer’s son, on the back of a small pony, had made it to Shrewsbury bringing a tale of demons coming from the sea. He was bruised and blooded, and the haunted look in his eyes told of horrors that no child should have endured. The tale he told the hearth troop was one of a raid on his small, isolated farm on the welsh coast. They had come from the sea and left no-one alive in the hall: his mother, father and brothers had been slaughtered. His sister had been defiled first: her screams had been what had alerted him and an old retainer. The man had hidden the little boy, Selwyn, in a copse overlooking the stream and so the boy had seen them kill even the old man.

Anne felt the tears rising in her eyes. She could feel the waves of anger rolling off her son. And feared what the man might do.

They were assaulting the coast as far as Flint and could be heading towards the main town at Chester. The Jutlanders had been brutal: few had survived the attacks they had started, and the fires of the burning buildings had left a trail of devastation as far as the eye could see.

Athelred ordered a troop immediately, and it was the work of moments before armed and armoured men took to their horses. William was mounted on a dapple-grey stallion who answered to the unlikely name of Finn.

Anne and the other ladies handed the men bags of food for their journeys and blankets were bundled into bedrolls for them all. William was grateful for the lined cloak Buffy had given him as he wrapped it around his shoulders.

Finn took objection to every leaf and branch, rearing and bucking whenever he could to try and unsaddle William. William had had enough before they had ridden for very long at all, and dismounted and grabbed the stallion by the ear, twisting it until the stallion’s own eyes started watering. The horse would still not give in and William twisted harder until the big horse went down on his knees and whinnied.

‘Now was that really worth it?’ William asked and the stallion seemed to agree. He behaved properly for the rest of the day.

They camped cold that night deep inside the Welsh countryside and rode hard and fast in the morning. They could see the smoke on the horizon showing where the raiders had been.

William and the hearth troop fought with the Danes on a beach and he had held nothing back, taking out the boat master himself, his skill with sword and spear making him a fearful opponent. Godwin had led the hearth-troop in a short bloody battle, swinging his sword left and right, cutting a swathe through the Danes camped by their boat. William, knowing the routine Olaf and Xander had kept to, had suggested that they attack as the men were sitting down to their meal and he had been right. The Saxons had caught them completely by surprise and had slaughtered one in five before the enemy had even gathered their own arms properly. Godwin turned in time to see William put a spear through the back of a man who had crept up behind them with a knife. He got the villain straight through the heart by the amount of blood that was spilt.

They had been Jutlanders, who had been hiding in a small bay on the welsh shore and raiding up and down that same coast, hitting small farms and settlements. William had shown them no mercy, given no quarter. He had spent most of the day before burying children who had been caught in the middle of the great slaughter and his heart held no love or forgiveness to any man who warred on children. He remembered Buffy standing on the pale and putting a cloth yard through such as these and spared them no thought. Wild dogs need putting down she had said, and she had been right.

Now they were no more, and William and the warriors had brought the ship round to Chester, the town being rebuilt under Athelred’s orders; it was a wonderful addition to the town’s growing wealth. They basked in the Kings favour that night and it resulted in his being presented with a helm and sword of his own from the spoils.

William was delighted with the sword. He begged some wool from the ladies and spent evening after evening lovingly fashioning a scabbard for his new baby. The oiled wool would keep the blade keen and bright and the wooden mid-layer would protect it from damage.

William’s star was rising fast at court and it wasn’t long before fathers started looking at him as a suitable match for their daughters. When the fifth one approached him the same week, William asked to see the King privately.

Athelred was weakening: the sickness had left him confined to the rooms that had been built away from the main hall for his comfort. As always Athelflaed was with him: the daughter of the great Alfred of Wessex was a remarkable woman in her own right and her husband was encouraging her to learn as much as she could before he died.

‘William, do come in,’ Athelred said from his bed, giving the young Lord his ring to kiss.

‘Your grace,’ William bowed and walked forward.

‘You have need of my counsel, now that does make a change my dear William. What troubles you?’

‘I have received various approaches regarding marriage,’ William began.

‘And you wish counsel in choosing the best?’ Athelflaed asked.

‘No my Lady, that’s not it. I cannot face marrying any of them and I wish counsel as to how to refuse without giving offence.’

‘Why can’t you marry? You should, you know. It’s your duty.’

‘I know. But while I was away I met someone and I know in my soul I simply could not make any vow to another woman and keep it. The only woman I could ever marry would be Elizabeth of Trondheim. The truth is I don’t think I could perform my husbandly task on the wedding night with another…’

‘I appreciate your honesty and sentiments. That is a different matter entirely. It could not have been easy to talk about this to me, to us. But we will advise the court, gently, that we have other plans for your marriage and none of the daughters here are included in them.’

‘Thank you my Lord,’ and William bowed himself out of the room.

‘What are you thinking, my love?’ Athelred asked his wife. She had that look on her face that told him there was a good idea on its way.

‘I think I have a little job for our William,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘one that will get him away from grasping fathers who seek to rise in his wake.’

‘You do? And what would that be?’ he said, pulling his wife onto the edge of the bed and kissing her neck.

‘I think we need to send our William to Ingimund in the spring. I want that market opened up and we could do with help keeping the Jutlanders at bay; and who better to trap a wolf than a wolf?’

‘And what do we offer them?’

‘We offer them a market and land. But I think we’ll talk about it later,’ she added with a smile as she curled into her husband’s side.

William was delighted by the result of his little talk with the King. No further offers of marriage were made, once it was known that Athelred would sanction none of the proposed brides. William earned his name and his rank from the King of Mercia and left Wessex and his brothers far behind.

William lifted himself high in the saddle to ease the stiffness in his legs and rolled his shoulders to ease the muscles across his back: he was trying to get used to the chain mail the King had given him as a gift. It was heavy and awkward, constricting his ability to breathe. It moved and flexed with his arms and trunk but his lungs were definitely having problems. He would have to take off his thick undershirt at the next halt and put a thinner one on. That would help, but he was proud of his present. He thought back to the night he had been presented with it. The King had called him over and Godwin had been grinning fit to burst.

‘With brothers like yours you will need something to protect your back,’ the King had said with a smile as he gave William the valuable gift. That had raised laughter right round the hall. There wasn’t a man among them who thought well of William’s brothers and their behaviour at court. William grinned as well. He was now as well armed as any man. He had mail, a helm, and a beautiful sword at his hip, he looked every inch the warrior.

Athelflaed had been kind enough to offer him and Lady Anne a place with the troops she was sending down to Wessex for the autumn Witan. It had been suggested that the Lady Anne accompany them to see her new grandchild and her sons, an offer which was speedily accepted, if with a little trepidation. Not for the journey but for the welcome she would find in Harold’s Hall.

Anne had accepted the offer as she had not seen Stephen for nearly a year, and Egbert was due to accompany the Bishop to Winchester for Christmas. She would have all her sons together for the first time since they were children.

Her palfrey was in the centre of the troops as they rode along, and some hearth-man or other talked to her most of the time. William kept his eyes and ears open for danger, but there few who were stupid enough to attack such a heavily armed train.

The autumn colours stayed late on the leaves that year and the weather was mild enough to make the journey a treat rather than a torment. They stayed overnight in Inns and travellers’ lodges in the various monasteries that catered to travellers along the great road south.

The City of Winchester was dominated by the Priory of St Swithun and the palace of Edward, both standing proud on the skyline. William and the men were delighted to see the walls as the day darkened with rain and storm. The lady Anne was tired after such a long journey and she too was grateful to see the welcoming lights. They were a bedraggled group that made their way past guards and peddlers heading straight to the High King’s Hall and warmth.

Edward was pleased to receive the visitors from his beloved sister’s court and made them most welcome. William delivered the letters and missives he had been carrying directly into the hands of the King himself and was permitted to present his mother. Godwin ensured that the men and horses would be cared for before sitting at the table and filling the King in on all the gossip from his brother-in law; there were messages from both his sister and son as well as friends who lived in Shrewsbury. Edward was polite and Kingly, listening carefully to William’s words before dismissing him to the comforts of the hall that had been set aside for Harold’s family.

It was cold comfort they found with their family. Druscilla was waiting outside by the door and she had that bad tempered look on her face that always meant trouble and when Anne approached she turned her back on the woman and walked back into the hall. William was fuming: it was a studied insult against his mother. She should have curtseyed at the very least but she hadn’t even greeted her mother-in-law before showing that good woman her back. Darla was no better. She didn’t rise from her bench and barely made eye contact with Anne before pointing at a seat far below the salt for both mother and son.

William bit his tongue and kept his silence for that night. Next morning he hadn’t even seen his two older brothers. Stephen and Egbert were regaling their mother with the tales of their lives. Egbert it seemed was expected to do great things in the church. Of all the boys he was the most like William and Anne, and the gentle lady was delighted that her second youngest had found a place for himself in life. Egbert excused himself early and returned to the Bishop’s hall. He had been given leave to see his mother but was expected back to help with the services that were to take place all day.

Stephen talked quietly with Anne and they shared a game of chess. She was overjoyed to hear that he had met and married a ‘sweet maid’ as he put it, one that he wouldn’t bring near either of his elder brothers, fearing for her virtue.

‘She stays in her father’s hall as do I and expects a child in the late spring. She prefers it there, it is far more peaceful than living under Harold’s roof and at least there I have a position. She has no brothers and is her father’s only surviving daughter, so the hall will be ours,’ he told his mother. There were tears in her eyes as she listened to Stephen recount his life to her.

Anne looked through her jewellery box. She had not brought her best, and was grateful for the forethought when she saw things had already gone missing, again. She pulled a ring off of her own finger, it was gold and set with sapphire.

‘For your lady from her husband’s mother,’ she told Stephen as she hid the ring in his hand, frightened that Dru or Darla would see it and demand that as they took everything else. She had been very careful to keep the brooch that Buffy had sent her hidden in the folds of her wimple; she was frightened of losing it to her thieving daughters in law…


The morning saw Anne meet her new grandchild, Edward, named for the king. He was a handsome little chap and Anne said all that was necessary before his wet nurse came and removed him from his mother’s arms. Druscilla was delighted at the fact that she had given Harold an heir, but from the gossip in the hall it was clear that neither Dru, nor Darla who was also carrying a child, were quite sure if the father was Harold or Liam. The elder brothers shared everything - including their wives it seemed. Anne was horrified: this was not the way she had raised them at all.


The Lady Anne had blossomed under the care of Athelflaed; before they arrived in Winchester she had had bloom in her cheeks and laughed more readily than she had for years. But since returning to her son’s hall she was already looking pale and drawn. She was looking more ill every day. William thought it just lack of sleep, or the excitement of seeing her grandchild. It never occurred to him that his brothers and their wives would be abusing his precious mother.

She had never told her youngest son of the hardship she had endured in Harold’s Hall. The cruelty Druscilla had subjected her to, the blows and the hunger she had had to tolerate, but it came to a head one night when William saw the meagre offering in his mother’s bowl. He had spent most evenings in the King’s own hall amongst the warriors and elders of Wessex. For the first time in a week he sat at his own brother’s table and looked in horror as he and his mother were served from the dregs of the stew pot. The bread was coarse and doughy, burnt on the outside and raw in the middle. The sort of stuff Buffy gave to the pigs. Even her thralls were better fed than this. He was disgusted at the treatment his mother was receiving. William signalled a serving maid to bring better food for Anne, it might not be his hall but surely his mother, his brother’s mother, deserved more than this? Anne put a restraining hand on his arm and shook her head.

‘Don’t William, it’s not worth it,’ she said quietly, casting a meaningful glance at the head of the table where Dru and Darla were laughing openly at the look on his face.

‘Have mine.’ He handed her the food he had received to supplement the greasy piece of gristle that had been her portion. ‘I will eat at the King’s table again. He said I was more than welcome.’

Anne smiled gratefully and took the food her son had given her. She bent her head to her food, not looking as William left the hall. She finished her meagre portion in silence and went towards her sleeping area, hoping to avoid any confrontation. But it was not to be.
Both Darla and Dru cornered her in the shadows.

‘What did you say to little Willie, mother?’ Darla nearly spat in her face.

‘Nothing, I swear.’ Anne was frightened, terrified and her fear showed in her voice as it trembled her reply. She didn’t know if she could take any more of their cruelty. Dru grabbed her arm, scratching at her with the long claw like nails she cultivated. Anne could feel them bite into her skin and tried not to cry out in pain.

‘You had better not either. We wouldn’t want Harold to send you to a convent now would we? He is your eldest son and in charge of your future, just you remember that.’

She backhanded Anne into the wattle and daub wall and the pair of them stalked off.



Next morning when he returned from Edward’s Own Hall, William noticed that his mother had a black eye. ‘I walked into a door,’ was all she said, but he knew it wasn’t true. Druscilla was looking far too pleased with herself.

William thought about the visit. It was supposed to have been a nice time for his mother, being with her five sons at the same time: but Egbert had been dutiful yet busy with church business whilst Stephen couldn’t wait to get back to his own hall and his lady. Not that William blamed him. Harold seemed unaware of anything that was going on around him except the woman in his bed and Liam had been drunk most of the time, whoring his way through any and all females that came within his reach. William had found him assaulting a girl child of no more than fourteen summers and that had resulted in another lesson for his brothers in how good his fighting skills had become. Liam’s bruised and bloodied face bore testament to the argument that the men had had over Liam’s behaviour.

‘I think the man is stupid, Mother, he just won’t let me alone. I know you wanted to see everyone, but if I am totally honest all I want to do is finish this visit and head back to Shrewsbury. Athelred’s court has a far warmer welcome for the pair of us than this place.’

Anne had to agree. She had been avoiding Darla and Dru and it had been a nightmare. Anne fingered the brooch she wore everyday. She wondered what Buffy would be like to a mother, and would bet good silver that she wouldn’t starve her or raise her hand to an older woman, as Darla had done before William returned.

William was grateful when the disastrous visit was finally over. The king had given him letters to take with him to his liege lord. William and Anne turned their backs on Winchester and headed north for Shrewsbury and the winter in the Mercian court. They rode slowly, allowing Anne to regain strength and colour before arriving back from their mission.

Spring followed Winter as surely as day followed night. The warmth returned to the sun and the earth started putting out its green mantle. Unbeknown to William, he had become a father to a child an ocean away. His thoughts frequently turned north and he often wondered how Buffy, she, was doing.

Anne had recovered from the disaster that had been the visit to Winchester; she was grateful to be back in her adopted home and so very proud of the place her son was making for himself. She watched as he became every inch the man she always knew he was capable of being. They settled into a fine routine and life continued simply...


Athelred called William to him one evening. It wasn’t unusual but there was something about this summons that piqued his interest more than normal. The King’s tone spoke of important changes. There had been whispers within the court for days of a major policy shift towards the Northmen camped on their doorstep but it had only been unfounded gossip. In his heart William hoped that he wouldn’t be sent against them. They were Buffy’s kin and he would find it hard, but he knew whatever happened he would keep the vows he had made to the Lord of Mercia.

William washed hands and face in cold water. He did miss the weekly baths he had learned to enjoy during his sojourn north. He pulled the comb Olaf had given him through his locks and straightened his tunic. His mother gave him a look over and a slight nod and the finest of her sons made his way through to the room where Athelred lay in bed.

‘My Lord,’ he said, giving his Liege a bow and making his way over to the figure resting amongst the embroidered cushions. He was surrounded by the elders of the court and the prior of the church from Chester. It was obvious that weighty matters were under discussion.

‘Ah, William. We were just talking about you. I have a special mission for you, one for which you are uniquely qualified for, I believe.’

‘My Lord, I am always at your command.’ William replied and looked around the room. There were some unfriendly eyes watching him but Godwin seemed more amused than anything. The Lady Athelflaed was smiling. Her bright intelligent eyes twinkled as she watched the interplay between the different factions of the court. She appeared to be having a joke at someones expense and William just hoped that it wasn’t him.

‘We need you to take a party and head for the Wirhal.’

William’s heart fell. The one thing he had been most dreading looked like it was going to happen. He was being asked to lead a raiding party against Buffy’s family. He knew where his duty lay. Then his brain caught up with his ears. The King was still speaking.

‘We need you to negotiate: is that understood?’

‘Pardon? I missed some of what you said sir, I beg your forgiveness.’ William was embarrassed: he had missed some of what the king had said.
.
Athelflaed laughed. ‘I think you lost him as soon as he heard you sending him against Ingimund.’ She had been watching carefully and the young man had a very expressive face, his thoughts clearly written across it - as were his fears.

‘We need you to lead a party onto the Wirhal and talk to Ingimund: we want to make a deal. To negotiate a peace treaty. And to open up the markets. You have spent time amongst these people and understand them.’

There was a snort from one of the council. ‘The only thing they understand is violence. I will not have those heathens in my town.’ It was the Prior of Chester, Father Gregory, who spoke.

‘They understand trade and honour as well my Lord; they keep their promises, and they love to trade. Jorvik is huge and they bring in silks and spices from as far as the Calipahtes. When I sat at the Jarl’s table it would even put this one to shame. They served ginger to their slaves on high days and holidays. There were vine fruits and dried apricots, fine wines of all sorts. Some had even been as far as the Holy City itself.’

‘I will believe it when I see it.’ He turned his back on William but the king kept watching the young lord. His speedy wits would be needed as would his skill at languages.

‘You are to go as a full emissary to Ingimund, and I will be guided by you to a certain extent William, but we need security for our borders and someone to watch the coast. I want no repeat of the attacks that we all suffered last year. He has the ships and the men; we have the land, I want an agreement. We can offer fine markets for his goods, but I will expect the taxes. They will fill our coffers and allow us to rebuild Chester. Would that please you, Prior, the rebuilding of the churches and priory of St Johns?’

‘Very much so my lord.’

‘Good. I leave it in your hands William. Take a fair band with you, but I would leave the hotheads at home: we aren’t actually looking for a fight,’ he added with a smile. ‘Succeed, boy, and I’ll find you a nice estate to call your own.’

The king dismissed William with a wave of his hand and William bowed his way out from the presence. As he went through the door he could hear the raised voice of Brother Gregory still arguing inside with the king. He repositioned his sword belt more comfortably on his hip, straightened his shoulders and headed out into the sunshine.

William sat quietly on the bench outside the hall trying to take it all in, what he was being offered: an estate to call his own, a home for his mother that she could never be thrown out of, and a name for himself. Something he dreamed of when he was with Buffy. All within his grasp and all he had to do was organise the talks between Ingimund and Athelred. It wasn’t an impossible task, just a really hard one. He started thinking through the men that he knew, what he would need: a good scribe, perhaps brother Giles would like to go with him, and Godwin was a good steady man. William sifted through the men in the hall in his mind, getting together a party that would reflect the importance of the mission without tempting an armed response from the Northern Jarl. He would also require gifts. The Northmen set great store by gifts. He cast his mind back to the wonderful silver armrings that Connor had presented to his men, and wondered if he could get silver of a similar quantity. William tried to remember the rules for gift giving, it would be disaster if he got it wrong. He needed to talk it over with someone to get his thoughts in order. His mother would listen: she was very intelligent for a woman. He winced at the thought. He was picking up bad habits from his associates again.

The Lady Anne was tending her loom. She watched as William made his way across to her, it was obvious that he had something on his mind. He used to talk things over with her when he was a child, but he hadn’t done it for years.

William watched his mother’s clever hands as they pulled the weft through the warp and created the beautiful patterns that Buffy had paid a fortune for. He remembered the value the Norse had put on the wonderful English woollens.

‘What is it William?’ She asked. ‘You look pensive.’

‘I have been asked to lead a delegation into the Wirhal to talk to Ingimund about a treaty.’

Anne’s squeal of delight cut off anything else he was going to say. Her joy was obvious on her face.

‘Such an honour William, to be asked!’

‘Well I don’t want to mess up and the first contact will be the most important. I need to take gifts, expensive, showy, flashy gifts: something that will grab Ingimund’s attention from the moment I arrive. And I wanted to talk to you to get some ideas. They, the Northmen, have strict rules about gift giving and I really don’t want to mess up.’

‘You won’t, William, you have matured into an amazing man, and I’m so very proud of you,’ there were tears in her eyes as she spoke.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, and watched her hands again. When she was at her weaving it had always been a good time to talk to his mother, her mind was free while her fingers were busy with the yarn.

‘What gifts would Connor have liked?’ she asked quietly.

‘Wool. Buffy paid a fortune for cloth and it wasn’t as good as yours. He gave silver but that was a liege to vassal type gift.’

‘So no silver then,’ Anne said.

‘No. They all admired the hunting birds we have: maybe a couple of hawks? And our trained hunting dogs, he’d love those I think,’ William mused.

‘So we have a list of fine wool, hawks and a couple of dogs.’ Anne spoke softly, concentrating on her loom. She had a fine split herringbone up, one that had been worked in the grease and the colours taken from different coloured sheep. Ideal for a kingly gift.



Two weeks later, when the weather was warmer and the ground drying after the spring rains, William headed out at the head of a small horse train, accompanied by five fyrdmen, Giles and Godwin, and a string of pack horses. The dogs went running along side them and the pair of hawks sat on the pommel of Godwin’s horse. With horns blowing William rode to his future.

It was a good two-days journey to the shelter of the Priory church of St John’s which had been rebuilt on land that overlooked the river outside the walls of the old Roman city known as Chester. Father Gregory had already returned to his duties there and had promised them warm benches and food when they arrived. The expectation of Mass that could be taken with him before heading into the dark forests that lay between the safety of the old walls and the dangers of the northmen was a welcome one.

The first part of the journey north was relatively easy. The road from Shrewsbury to Chester was well known and well trodden and the weather was kind to them: the wind was not too fierce and the clouds kept the rain to themselves, as if God himself was blessing their undertaking. The men chatted and laughed. They were still in Mercian territory with few problems to worry about. They were far enough away from the Welsh and from the major rivers to fear attack from those sources and a big enough party to keep outlaws at bay. The dogs took to running into the woods to scare up game, and the men brought down a fine deer, which was quickly butchered to provide trail meat, the dogs enjoying the scraps and entrails and the birds getting their share as well.

William enjoyed the camaraderie around him, it felt like he was home, he kept expecting to see Xander or Connor on one of the mounts but it was Godwin’s face that appeared under the iron helm. William spent the time thinking planning his actions. It was necessary for him to appear strong so that Ingimund wouldn’t take advantage of the situation, but he needed to appear concilliatory as well. He really wanted this peace to work, for very selfish reasons. It would mean he would never have to lift his sword in anger against Buffy’s kin, and even if he could never see her again he would have kept faith with his promises in his heart.

The first night on the road saw William and Godwin stop the train at a large farm in the area known as Wem. The farmer made the party more than welcome: he had a warm fire and his wife fed them a good, wholesome rich stew and fresh baked bread, straight from her oven. The butter was a rich, golden colour and had kept well over the winter. It reminded William of the hall he had spent the previous year in: warm, cosy even. They were all well fed, and the beer was tasty and brewed to perfection; their horses having had good oats to eat and been given a rub down, were soon enjoying the warmth of the stable. William and Godwin sat talking with the farmer long into the night until not so subtle hints were dropped that the cover needed to go onto the fire. The men acquiesced with humour and William wrapped himself up in his cloak and bedded down with the rest of the troop, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the dying embers. He tossed and turned for a while, still thinking hard about how to approach Ingimund and the northmen. He hoped they remembered him from the year before, but he had only been with them a couple of days and Ingimund had been more concerned with news of his relatives than with a Saxon prisoner who was going home to his own people. William spent his waking moments trying to drag from his memory all the customs and manners that were held important by Buffy’s people. He knew Connor and Eirik valued trade, and Ingimund had said that he did too. The offer he carried was a good one. He only hoped he had a chance to deliver it properly without making a fool of himself or Athelred. He had to succeed, so much relied upon it and him.

The next evening saw the men trotting over the flood plain to the town below them. The old Roman walls had stood the test of time, standing proud over the city and guarding the river. The men watched as the tidal bore raced passed the walls and on up the river. This river could and would take the sea going ships the Northmen loved so much. They turned their horses towards the church that had been rebuilt in the last year. They could hear the bell summoning everyone to evening prayer, its solid tolls reminding William strongly of his time at Lindisfarne.

The Gateman was waiting for them as they dismounted from their tired horses and handed the reins over to the stable lads. Godwin and William unpacked the gifts and kept them close. They were responsible for their safe delivery. Honour demanded. Father Gregory had put aside a small hall for their use and they were grateful to see a fire burning well on the fireplace. A pottery vessel stood close by it with warm fish stew heating in the embers that were piled around it. There was fresh bread and jugs of ale on a table by the wall. All William could see were the sleeping areas, he desperately needed to sleep and he longed to take advantage of the mattress that was waiting for him. He was, however, fully aware that as the King’s Messenger he would have to make nice with the Prior and nobles waiting for him in the Priory refrectory.

The Prior sat amongst his clergy and watched as the men from The Mercian Court entered and took places on the benches. He was studying the young lord, gauging his responses to everything that was being said to him, and his attitude to his peers. He might be capable of bring some sort of peace to the area but the churchman doubted it, he couldn’t believe in his heart of hearts that the Northmen could ever change. He had believed they were devils for so long, but now the King thought there was a chance; he would however demand certain conditions, have requirements to meet just like anyone else.

After Mass the next morning William sat quietly with Prior Gregory in his chamber. William gratefully accepted the glass of wine as he watched the play of light through the horn window. He never thought that he would be an honoured guest in such a room, it made him smile to himself and he turned his attention back to the holy man.

‘We need reassurances that they won’t just raid the church, we’ve all heard stories about what can happen. Lindisfarne has been attacked so often…’

‘I know, that’s how I was taken north originally. I spent three years in the scriptorium there before I was transported as a hostage: I spent nearly a year with them.’

‘I never knew… and yet after living with them you still think there is a chance for peace?’
‘Perhaps it’s because I did live with them, but what I saw was an honourable people, very different from us, but honourable nonetheless. They have laws which they abide by, and a Witan, they call it The Thing. They even allow women to speak there.’

‘Surely women can’t understand politics and law?’

William laughed. ‘Would you say that out loud to the Lady Athelflaed? Because I wouldn’t!’

The priest had the decency to look abashed. ‘Maybe not, but surely all the women you met weren’t as clever as our lady?’

‘No they weren’t, she truly is an exception; but the northmen don’t automatically assume a lack of intellect, in fact they wanted women to speak. They said that they view the world differently from men and that difference was what made the Witan strong.’

‘I suppose I could concede that, but I can’t allow pagan practises inside the city.’

‘There is no need. I know that some of them follow ‘The White Christ’ as they call Our Lord, and are willing to undertake baptism and conversion to the true faith. The proposal is that a small group of them will start a settlement and market down by the river, outside the walls and away from the Watergate; we could insist that they have to be of the True Faith, and allow them to have a second market at the great beach at Meols for those that aren’t. It would bring revenue into the city.’

‘You have a wise head, young man,’ Father Gregory said as he refilled the wine cups.

‘I’m just doing what I have to.’

‘What makes you try so hard? Building a fortune so you can take a wife?’

‘I was a wimp, the youngest and smallest of my mother’s sons.’

‘So you fight to make a name for yourself, and to remove the shadow of your siblings.’

‘No, I work to be the man a certain Lady knew I could be, and I will undertake any task I need to fulfil my vow to her.’

The following morning saw William and his men at church, Father Gregory presiding as they accepted the host and saw to their souls. On leaving the stone building William saw a face from his past: Lady Cecily. She was speaking quietly with a group of nobles, both male and female, and looked little different, at least from a distance. William ducked his head and tried to make it to the stable block without being seen. Looking at her more closely he could see that the years had not been kind to his first love, his puppy love. She was no longer the slender reed she had been when she visited his mother at his father’s hall. She was wider in the hips and her face had taken on a pinched and waspish appearance. He made his way quietly through the crowds and had nearly escaped when her strident tones cut across the conversations about them.

‘William of Wessex, is that you?’ her voice grated against his ears.

William turned. As a gentleman he could do no less than recognise her, her voice was so loud it would have been impossible to pretend that he hadn’t heard it.

‘My lady,’ he said formally, hoping that Godwin would come and rescue him from the harpy her looks told him she had become.

‘So formal William, you weren’t so formal last time we met, in fact weren’t you offering me your hand?’

‘An offer you and your father considered below you, my lady.’

‘Perhaps we were hasty in our decision,’ Cecily said with a calculating smile. Her father had given her very strict instructions, make friends with William and get him to repeat his offer. ‘My husband died earlier this year and I am free again.’

Cecily looked him up and down. William had grown into a fine, handsome man and he was rising fast in the kingdom of Mercia. She and her father had been rash in refusing him so quickly, but how was she to know that a younger son was going to make so much of his life?

William looked down at Cecily. She was nothing special, there was no fire in her brown eyes, she looked worn and used. There was no stirring in his body or his heart as he stared at her. Nothing: whatever he had felt was now dead and buried.

‘Whatever choice you and your family made you must now live with. I for one am grateful for your conclusion to our negotiations: I would have hated to be shackled to such a shallow and manipulative woman. Now if you will excuse me I have the King’s work to attend to.’

With that William gave a small bow and walked away leaving Cecily open mouthed and speechless. He smiled to himself as he heard her raise her voice up to a screech and start stamping her foot. He really had had a lucky escape. Brother Giles followed, laughing. William had handled himself wonderfully, the woman screeched like a banshee and was causing quite a scene. Yes, William was well out of that little mess.

By mid morning they were saddled up and away from the shelter of the city walls. The men kept a little closer to William, relying on each other to keep a lookout in what was truly enemy lands. Across the plain and onward toward the spit of land known as the Wirhael.

The rain was making it hard to see as the little troop trotted through the wooded entrance to the Wirhael and along towards the Trani mere. William had ordered that the horns be blown regularly: the last thing he needed was for Ingimund to think they were spies. It was heading for dark when they heard an answering horn sound through the gloom and twilight. They had found their quarry. William was grateful, he hadn’t wanted to camp out in the open. He halted them in a small clearing and ordered the blowing horn to sound forth again. It echoed through the wild wood, returning its own call bouncing off trees and branches. It sounded as if ghosts were in the forest and sent shivers down the spines of men who usually refused to acknowledge fear.

A cracking branch made the men snap their heads round to the source of the sound. Standing in the half light was the figure of a man wrapped in a huge cloak, one that covered his arms with sleeves. William had never seen anything quite like it. The man didn’t seem that aggressive but William knew better. He could feel other eyes watching him from the shadows. He put a restraining hand on Godwin’s arm as the swordsman had started to draw his blade.

‘This is what we’ve come for,’ William reminded him and turned back to the man in the shadows. There was something familiar about the way he stood but William couldn’t place him for the moment.

‘My name is William of Wessex, I seek audience with Ingimund and bear messages and gifts from Athelred of Mercia,’ he called out in the Norse tongue.

The man looked him up and down and then nodded. He stepped out into what light was left from the fading sun and William realised he did know him: it was Eirik, cousin to Connor and Buffy.

‘I know you William but I don’t know the men with you: will you vouch for them?’

‘I’ll vouch for them, for all of them: we come in peace.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ Eirik laughed but he signalled his own men into the clearing from the shelter of the trees. Godwin took a deep breath as he realised they had been completely surrounded by warriors. William had been right to stay his hand.

William turned to the men with him. ‘It’s the peace of the Witan for us: don’t cause any trouble, and they won’t. I have vouched for all of you, in fact I suggest you peace-knot your swords, now.’

The men looked at Godwin who gave a small nod of his head. Brother Giles looked around in fascination, the men surrounding them were talking quickly to their leader, but making no move to attack. William was being proved correct: there was a chance for peace, or at least a cessation of hostilities for a time.

The man who knew William fetched his horse from where it had been hidden and swung up into the saddle. He trotted up to William’s side and had started chatting. Brother Giles couldn’t make out what was being said and spent the time looking around as they were led through the trees and out into the river plain. Standing proud against the sky, lit by flaming torches was a hall, wood built, carved and painted with exotic beasts and figures. Brother Giles crossed himself as they were led through the pale and into the yard. Boys ran up and stood waiting to take their mounts from them. All the men looked to William for their cues as to what to do. William slipped a leg over the saddle and landed gracefully on the ground. He handed over the reins of his horse, but took the packs off both it and the pony. The dogs were called in to his side and braids attached to their collars; he signalled Godwin to bring the hawks and loaded with gifts made his way in to face one of the most feared raiders on the west coast, Ingimund of Wirhael.

Buffy looked at the first proper sunshine of the spring and took a deep breath of the fresh clean air. It was wonderful not to have to be hurrying across the yard to the shelter of the cow shed or dairy, and it was certainly nice to be able to leave the stuffiness of the longhall.

The ground was drying nicely: it was certainly time to start the spring planting. The kale yards had been thoroughly dug over by the simple expediency of letting the pigs into the walled area. They had hungrily dug up every root and weed, and added manure into the soil at the same time, giving the young piglets plenty of food to start their weaning, and a safe place to play as well as saving the back breaking labour of clearing the ground for the new season’s planting. It wouldn’t be long before the boy took the pigs out into the woods for the summer, fattening them all up for next winter’s meat. Then last year’s seeds could be fetched from where they had been kept cool and dry and they could be checked over carefully to lessen the weeds being planted.

Jon could start the tilling in the morning, provided the weather held. She was grateful Connor had let him come with her: he was a hard worker and a loyal servant. Buffy smiled as she watched him: he was supposed to be getting on with his work but he was watching Hella again She was a sweet girl, daughter of the wood-smith that lived in the higher valley. Jon would have to buy his freedom or earn it from her if he wanted to chase there much longer, she smiled to herself. They would make a fine pair eventually.

Jon waved over from the roof of the cow shed where he was busy re-turfing the batons. The roof had leaked during the winter and this was the first opportunity they had had to get up there and check it all over. Buffy waved back and smiled. The young man had worked hard since they had returned to the hall following the birth of Nordlys only four months ago. The babe was growing well, hale and hearty. Her cries, when she was hungry, could be heard across the farmyard, and were often mistaken for a raven. Other children had a delicate cry, but oh no, not her daughter. Her cry could send a man mad or turn milk sour. Buffy had made sure that she was fed very regularly and spent much of her time telling the child about the wonderful man her father was. Nordlys looked up at her mother with huge blue eyes that gladdened Buffy’s heart. Her prayer had been answered and her daughter carried the look of her darling William. She turned her thoughts south and wondered how William was, now that he was back amongst his own people, and wished him well. Then she turned back to the business of her hall and her own life.




William entered the darkened doorway first, leading Godwin and Brother Giles into the gloom. Eirik walked behind them, between the honoured guests and their bodyguard. He knew he should have left the visitors together in one party, but the mischief in his soul wouldn’t let him; besides, he wanted to see how the young man had done over winter, and hear why he had risked his life to return to the Northmen’s fold.

William made his way over to the high seat by the columns that supported the roof of this great longhall and bowed low before Ingimund. He knew him from the year before and the Lord had changed little over the winter. Ingimund indicated that William was to speak and the young lord took a deep, soothing breath and started:

‘Sir, I am bid speak to you by My Lord, Athelred of Mercia, and to treat with you. I bring gifts from my Leige and hope they are to your liking.’

William signalled his men forward. They carried the bundle of woollens. The leads to the hunting dogs were held by Godwin and the hawks sat on two other’s arms well hooded, to prevent them getting upset at the noise. They were fine and kingly gifts but Ingimund showed them little heed. He looked at the young man that was kneeling before him; he remembered him from somewhere, and at least this ambassador spoke Norse, and spoke it well. He stared at the man a little more; he was sure he recognised him from somewhere. He took a deep draft of his ale horn and stared again.

‘You’re William, the one who tamed the Valkyrie!’ he came out with loudly, his voice booming around the hall.

‘My Lord?’ William understood all the words but they didn’t make sense.

‘Elizabeth of Trondheim, you’re Elizabeth’s friend.’

‘Uh, yes my Lord, I know Buffy - Elizabeth.’

‘I thought so. Connor spoke highly of you, so did Eirik here, so come lad, tell me what you want? Stand up when you talk to me, can’t stand all this grovelling they do at your southern halls.’

‘My Lord of Mercia wishes to treat with you and he has sent me as an emissary.’ William pointed out the gifts again. ‘I have brought gifts for you,’ he repeated.

Ingimund looked at the gifts spread out in the firelight for his inspection. ‘Those dogs and birds trained?’ He asked.

‘Yes, My Lord, I brought only the finest.’

The woman beside Ingimund whispered something to the Norse lord who nodded at her.

‘She says the woollens look fine.’

‘They are my Lord, I had my mother help choose them and she is a fine weaver.’

‘You seem to remember what we value at least…’

Giles tried to keep up with the talk, but it was too quick for him. He looked around the hall: they were, naturally enough he supposed, the centre of interest for all those sitting. The monk sent a heartfelt plea up to heaven that they survived the evening’s negotiations. He was not so stupid as to think that he was in the presence of devils, but these men had little respect for the cloth he wore or the vows he had taken.

Giles turned his attention back to William when he felt an elbow dug into his side.

‘The Lord is offering up seats and a bed for the night,’ William explained to Brother Giles and to his men, ‘we will talk more business in the morning. Do not refuse any drink put in front of you, it is considered the height of bad manners, and no drawing any weapon either, it would start a blood bath.’

Godwin looked around his men. ‘I don’t know about you, but there has to be something basically decent about a man who thinks it rude of you to turn down his alcohol,’ he said laughingly. The other men relaxed. If Godwin was at ease with the situation they should be reasonably safe. William smiled. The old soldier would keep the younger ones in check.

Eirik watched in amusement as the strangers were put in amongst the Northmen. Ingimund chose their places carefully, ensuring they sat away from the hotheads, but near to experienced warriors who could take them down if the Saxon’s thoughts turned to treachery. They soon settled back to the important business of getting drunk. The talking could wait until the next afternoon when minds were clearer and headnails gone.

Giles had awoken early, just as the women in the hall were preparing breakfast. He had watched as they talked quietly amongst themselves, before nature’s call had made him try a little pantomime to ask where the midden was. One of the older women had laughed, and answered him in flawless Saxon, embarrassing him even further.

She showed him where the piss pot was stored behind a small screen, and left him alone to make use of it. When Brother Giles had finished she brought him a large wooden bowl filled with warm water, and a cloth. Giles had assumed the water was for drinking, but again the Saxon speaker had come to his rescue, explaining to him that it was for washing his face and hands after the night. Giles was a churchman, more used to breaking the ice to wash, and was grateful for the luxury of warm water. He quickly finished his ablutions, keeping the noise down as the women did. Most of the men had drunk far more than he had, in fact he had fallen asleep very early, whilst the drinking games were still continuing. He had wanted a clear head this morning. Every sense he had was telling him to run, that these were demons with no souls and no emotions, but that was not what the evidence of his eyes and ears had told him. He had watched the respect with which the women of the household were treated. The love in Ingimund’s eyes as he watched his wife was obvious. There were younger and prettier women around, but none could hold a candle to the Lady Fritha: she was something special. She carried herself as Queen, and rightly so. She ruled the household with a rod of iron.

Giles watched as the other men slowly woke around him. They all had their own little habits. Some would reach for the woman who shared his blankets, others would scratch themselves, another patted his sword lovingly before sitting up. Giles smiled as he noticed one of the dogs start to lick William’s neck. The youngster mumbled ‘Buffy,’ before rolling over to put an arm around the dog’s neck. Giles wanted no mistakes this morning so moved closer to where Godwin was still sleeping. If William woke with a start the last thing they needed was for Godwin to draw his weapon.
William could feel Buffy kiss him along his jaw line, could feel her tongue tracing the outline of his jaw. The feel of her body next to him hardened his to the point of painfulness. Half awake he wondered how Eirik could not have told him she was here? The kisses changed to licks up and towards his ear. His little lady was getting playful. William smiled to himself, despite the head-nails being driven into his skull.

He turned over to face Buffy, expecting to see her wonderful emerald eyes but he got a face full of fur and wet dog. The bitch he had brought with him was licking his face and neck. She smelt of something disgusting she had rolled in that very morning. It was enough to make a grown man weep.

‘Agh!’ William yelled as he jumped up from his place on the bench, tangling himself in his blanket and waking Godwin as he did so. Godwin reached for his sword, assuming they were under attack, but Brother Giles stayed his hand.

‘Our noble leader has just had a rude awakening,’ he chortled, pointing to the dog on William’s bed.

Godwin had reacted just as Giles thought he would. The northmen turned their heads to the commotion and then the laughter rang around the hall. Eirik watched, still howling with laughter, as William washed the dog saliva off of his face and neck, paying particular attention to his ears.

‘I suppose you found that funny?’ William growled at Giles when he felt the older man’s eyes on him.

‘Well yes, actually I did.’ Giles smiled.

‘You seem to tame all the bitches, William,’ Ingimund said jokingly as he came over to them. ‘My wife says you need feeding up and has told you both to come and sit and enjoy a little something before we all leave the hall for the day’s chores.’

William smiled his thanks at the Great North Lord. Ingimund was a powerful looking man, one you could easily believe took the fight to his enemies. William was relieved to the welcome they had been given in this hall. It would make his job possible; not easy but possible, and he just needed the chance.

The day-meal cleared away, Ingimund signalled to William to sit at the table. It was time for the conversations to start.

‘We’ll talk business now, young man.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. I hope you liked the gifts?’ William asked gently.

‘They were very nice thank you: my wife tells me the fabric is of exceptional quality, and she would be interested in trading for more.’

‘It’s trade I wish to speak to you about, my Lord.’

‘I’m always willing to listen to talk of trade.’

Giles pulled out a scroll from his bag as well as a quill and a pot of ink. He had picked and dried the oakgall himself and all he needed was a little water to make the ink that would record the two men’s words. Looking around he saw the bucket by the kitchen area and using some of that mixed the contents of the pot into a liquid. He stirred it thoroughly with a small stick he kept for that purpose.

Ingimund watched in amusement. He had see ink before but was diverted by the little ritual the churchman was going through. A man’s rituals and foibles could tell you a lot about him, and Ingimund was beginning to judge that Brother Giles was someone who took his position and responsibilities very seriously. An honourable man? They would wait and see. But he was serious and thoughtful and learned. That counted for something in the Norseman’s eyes. He was also brave, oh not battle brave, hoping for a swift death with sword in hand. But it took a great deal of courage to come to a pagan north hall when you preached the word of the White Christ and expect to walk away again.

‘You wanted to talk trade?’ Ingimund started again when Giles had finished fussing over the state of his quill.

‘Yes, my liege lord Athelred bids me greet you and open negotiations with you that would be to mutual advantage and profit.’

‘I love that word profit; not sure about the mutual bit, though.’ Ingimund smiled; it was obvious that William was nervous and Ingimund was intrigued. They rarely got visitors, and this was the first group of Saxon visitors ever to grace his hall.

William smiled at the lightening of the atmosphere. This might actually get easy, he thought to himself.

‘My Lord wants to negotiate with you to allow Norse merchants safe pass to Chester for them to bring their goods straight into that city.’

‘That’s the one with the big walls,’ Eirik added, unhelpfully joining the discussion at the table.

‘So that he can destroy them as soon as they appear?’ Ingimund asked. He wasn’t a stupid man and William had better learn that quickly.


‘No my Lord, in all honesty. He wants you to be able to trade with him in Chester.’

‘Even if I was tempted by the markets on offer, I think the thought of sailing under those walls regularly would make me think twice. Then there are the taxes: I’m certain that Athelred and Athelflaed would want a nice cut of any profit.’

‘There would be taxes, but they are open to negotiation. And it’s not just a market Mercia is offering. He wants to talk about a Norse settlement, outside the walls, near the river. A settlement that combines the best of both worlds, Saxon and Norse. There are other topics to be discussed as well. This is meant to be a reciprocal arrangement, a true treaty between our peoples. We are both supposed to benefit.’

‘I will think about what you have said.’ Ingimund signalled one of the women: ‘a jug of wine here!’ he ordered. William groaned inwardly. He hadn’t recovered from the night before yet, and the drinking was about to start again. He accepted the fine horn cup and watched as Giles and Eirik were given wooden ones. Ingimund held a full cows horn, rimmed in silver and he was filling it to the brim. Even the drinking vessels had rank in this hall.

‘Did you enjoy your visit to the homeland, boy?’

William was surprised by the change of topic. He wondered why Ingimund was questioning him about his time in Buffy’s, no Connor’s, hall.

‘Yes Sir, I did. I found it most informative. I left family there.’

Giles jerked his head up and away from his scroll. He wasn’t used to William mentioning Tara at all and was wondering how the man would react.

‘Yes, she’s well and happy: Eirik was at the wedding.’ Ingimund gestured towards the other man with his horn.

‘How was Tara when you last saw her?’ William asked Eirik.

‘Well and happy. She and Willow had taken over the reins of the hall nicely.’

‘And Buffy?’ William had to ask.

‘Back to her own lands. She said she was going to make the place worth more than Connor’s!’

‘She most probably will, given half a chance and the Norns being with her…’

‘If they’re not, she’ll soon change their minds for them!’

The men laughed at the jokes and passed the jug around again.

William undid his cloak and threw it over his saddle in front of him, carefully fastening the beautiful silver ring pin that Ingimund had given him. He wouldn’t want to lose that. The tablet braid attached was worth a fortune in itself.

It was heading for high summer: he had spent three weeks with Ingimund and was finally headed back to Shrewsbury. The weather had delayed their departure for a week and William had been watching the summer storm with wary eyes, desperate to get back to his own court and his mother. The years he’d spent away from her still left a dim place in his soul, especially considering the treatment the lady had received at the hands of his brothers.

William thought back to the time he had spent with Ingimund. He had never worked so hard; digging a field seemed like an easy day compared to the amount of effort it had taken to get Ingimund to talk about the treaty. But an accord had finally been reached and he was taking the results back to his own Lord and Lady. Results he hoped they would be pleased with. He, himself, was delighted. It had gone better than he could have ever imagined.

William let his thoughts wander and they turned northward without any direction from him. Last spring he had been with his beloved Buffy: it was over a year since he’d seen her, held her, worshipped her. He sent a quiet prayer to anyone that was listening that she was safe and well. He had thought it strange that no-one would answer his questions about her, beyond telling him that Buffy was well and back on her own lands and managing her own hall. It was not their place to gossip about a Lady. If he wanted answers, Connor was the only person that could tell him, and Connor was travelling south to the Franks - or so he had been told. “Collecting” wine and dried vine fruits before selling them in Jorvik, they had said. That mighty city would have its equal on the west coast soon enough.

Athelred and Althelflaed would be delighted with the range of goods that would be coming through the market soon. An Accord had been reached! Now all William had to do was get home and hope that his Lord and Lady were happy with the results of his endeavours.

Giles was chatting to Eirik, who had accompanied them to the bounds of Ingimund’s land. The two men had struck up quite a friendship over the weeks they had been forced together, and had even gone hunting together. They were both educated and travelled men; Giles had been to Rome and Eirik had travelled as far as Constantinople. William listened to them talking as they rode, but his thoughts were flying home to Mercia and the Court in Shrewsbury. He really hoped that he had done what was wanted of him.

Chester gave them shelter for one night. Brother Gregory wasn’t there, but they had been made welcome anyway: then it was home. A fast gallop through dried-up roads making the journey quicker than it had been on the way out, they covered the full 40 miles in one day, with no hawks to worry about or dogs to keep up with them. The walls and torches of Shrewsbury were a welcome sight to them all. Godwin ensured that the horses and men were taken care of before escorting William and Giles into the presence of the King and his hearth troop.

William looked around for his mother: she wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the hall, but he could feel eyes on him. His brothers were there, sending daggers from their stares as he made his way to the King’s side; their looks were cold and hard. Athelred had little love for Harold or Liam: Liam’s treachery had not been forgotten. But the King was being wary, and canny. Edmund hidden away in Wessex had long been an enemy of the Danes and Athered didn’t want that aggression to spill over into his lands. Liam and Harold were here as spies, for all that this court was raising Edmund’s own son. They were here to see what Athelred was going to do about the Northman on his doorstep, and Liam and Harold were known as troublemakers wherever they went. Athelred was glad, however, that Godwin and his men were back. Their sword arms may be needed.



Giles really felt like turning round and heading back to the hall they had left just a couple of days before. The atmosphere had certainly been warmer and more welcoming. Giles watched as Harold and Liam of Wessex continued to drink from the jug on their table, talking privately. They hadn’t even stood when the King had risen, and they were smirking. The King looked pale and shaky; his lady seemed worried, his health had not been good for a couple of years and obviously he was weak again. Things had changed in the few weeks they had been away. And whatever it was, Liam and Harold were behind it: Giles was quite sure about that.

Godwin entered the hall carrying the gifts that Ingimund had sent to Mercia. He could sense the unease and made his way quickly to his Lord’s seat, well as quickly as he could, struggling with the box that had been left in his safekeeping. It was large and iron bound, secured with a lock that needed a key. Setting the box down he knelt beside William and Giles and waited for permission to talk, but it didn’t happen.

‘We have heard through your brothers and through Lady Underwood that you have made a private and secret treaty with Ingimund to take away the city of Chester from our grasp and give it to the Northmen,’ Athelred stated. He wanted to let William know as quickly as possible that Wessex men were stirring trouble again.

William could not comprehend what the Noble Lord was talking about. He had carried out his orders: Giles carried the accord in his hand, it only required Mercia’s agreement before it became a treaty and now he was being accused of treason?

‘I don’t understand. I have been carrying out your command, my lord.’ William said, stuttering as he did. This could mean his life. ‘These false and base tales are not true. I have only done what you wanted.’

Giles held forth the parchment. Athelflaed took it from him and started to read. Liam and Harold had stopped talking and were watching carefully, they hadn’t expected Giles to have gone with William. Their mother’s priest was not a man who was easily bribed.

They had paid Cecily and her father a lot of money to bear false witness. They would see their younger brother hang yet for the shame he had put on them. They hated him that much. But the King would not be happy when he found out about that little twist. Liam tried thinking but the ale he had supped was blurring his mind. How had William got back? They had sent men to ensure he never left Wirhael. Harold was angry, his plans foiled again.

‘This vellum is interesting: we will read it quietly and in private.’ Athelred made his way unsteadily back to the royal chamber. Athelflead, signalling both Giles and William to follow, gave her arm to her Lord and they led the way into their private room. Godwin picked up the chest and trotted after the little party wishing he had help to carry such a large and heavy box.

As soon as they entered the private room, Athelflaed started laughing. She poured wine for each of the men, including Godwin and said, ‘sit, sit, sit,’ indicating the benches set around the brazier.

The charcoal was giving out a great deal of heat, chasing the cool night air from the room.
William was shaking, but not from cold. What could have happened in the time he had been away to turn the court so much against him? He had seen his brothers but what could they have said that had upset the King so much?


‘We’re sorry about your welcome, but Liam and Harold have been stirring trouble in the land since they arrived, and we haven’t been able to prove anything yet. We were setting you up to be the butt for their plots, but didn’t have time to let you know.’ Athelflaed smiled at William. ‘We trusted your honour enough that you would ask questions before losing your temper, and I’m pleased to see we were right.’

Athelred lifted up his wine and took a large draft. The cool liquid slipped down his throat and eased the soreness for a few minutes.

‘Now lad, tell me all about your adventures.’

William and the King talked long into the night. All that had been agreed with the Northmen was discussed. The accord would become a treaty.

There would be an enclave just outside Chester city wall, with a church at its centre, that would be under Norse law. The Norsemen would have the Wirhael for their own, holding a great beach market at Meols twice a year: their own laws would take precedent in that land. The toughest part to sell to Ingimund had been the fact that any merchants trading in Chester had to be Christian or at least Prime-Signed. Ingimund hadn’t taken kindly to that idea at first, but Eirik, one of his advisors, had explained to Ingimund that some priests paid you to become Christian. The six times he had done it he’d received enough linen for a new shirt each time. The Norseman liked that idea. He would take the White Christ’s bribe. It wouldn’t, couldn’t, change what was in his heart.

William and Giles had given up trying to explain that you were only supposed to be baptised once. They would leave that to Brother Gregory and his priory. A great High Road, that was to be protected by law, was planned through the forest above the marsh levels and leading to the market place at Meols. Any travellers on it would be under the protection of both Chester and Wirhael.

Best of all for Athelred was the fact that this market would become one of the main landing points for the boats on their journeys north and south, all fully laden with the best the world had to offer. As a token of respect, and to reciprocate the gifts sent to him Ingimund had sent silk and spices, just a taste of what was to come. He had also promised wines from the Francs for the agreement ceremony. But he wanted to meet Athelflaed and Athelred face to face and with a peace between them, to see if they could work together as was hoped.

William was dismissed to his sleeping place, with the grateful thanks of the Lord and lady of Mercia, but Brother Giles remained behind. He had a private message to deliver to his King

‘Ingiund had agreed everything that William has told you, but he wants something more to seal this bargain. It is too important a treaty to reply on a piece of parchment, he says. He wants something that ties the two courts together permanently.’

‘And what would that be? And why didn’t he relay that message with William?’

‘He gave me his reasons but wanted me to tell you the price first.’

‘Very well then, what does the North Lord want?’

‘A marriage: he wants William.’

Buffy smiled as Nordlys crawled across the great cow skin that had been laid down in the meadow for her. She was growing strong and healthy and looked more like her father every day. Buffy knew she shouldn’t love her little one so much, she wasn’t even a year old - but she couldn’t help it. Nordlys was the centre of her world. She would do anything and everything she could to make sure that nothing happened to the little bit of William she had left.

Buffy had been picking nuts and berries whilst watching Nordlys out of the corner of her eye. It was a whole day away from the hustle and bustle of the main hall and even the sun was beating down, making the wheat and rye turn gold in the light. It would soon be harvest and time for the hard work to start again. This hall wasn’t as wealthy as Connor’s yet, but they had enough food to make it safely through the winter with some to spare, which she planned to sell at the spring markets, making a nice little profit. There wasn’t as much bounty here as on Connor’s estates. But there would be, eventually. She would see to that. The land was good and fertile, and there was untapped virgin soil ready for tilling. There was even an abandoned farm of some three hides, but she had plans for that. Buffy smiled secretly to herself. Tonight would be fun.

Her ship had traded well, and in spite of paying her own boatmaster a fat fee, she had turned another nice profit on the little coaster. Robin had run the hall as well as he could, but its mistress was back and it showed. The grubenhausen were being rebuilt, her workers and thralls were taken care of and they were working harder than they ever had before. Connor had taken a load of her braids south for selling as well as furs from the forests that surrounded her Hall. She was rich in good timber for boat building and knew that this winter would bring more profit. Nordlys would have a fine inheritance when she grew up.

But today was a day off, a day for resting a little and enjoying the late summer sunshine. Buffy needed the rest. She had banished Jon out of the hall every day for the last week. The young man had been a valued ally over the last year and tonight he would get his reward. She thought back to when he had first arrived at her door, a scared little boy of six summers, his red hair shining in the sun, and his family so far away. Jon’s mother had sold him to pay for food for her other children, his red hair making him more valuable than his siblings, and Buffy’s mother had done the buying. Buffy had only been a couple of years older than him, but she had made sure he was fed and cared for. Buffy had learned early that if you care for your people they care for you. It sounded very hard and mercenary but it was so true.

She looked up as Jon took the cows down to the stream to drink. The dairy had had a bountiful year and the cheeses and stomachs full of butter stored would keep them all winter long, again with enough to make it worth taking to market.


Jon had been a little furtive for the last few days, but then so had Buffy. He had been sneaking around the farm when he thought no one was looking. But Buffy wasn’t worried. She knew all his hiding places for the silver he had earned over the years. He had saved everything he could, and she had been a generous and kindly owner for the most part at least. His hoard was enough for him to buy himself free, and she knew how much he wanted that.

Jon had approached her the night before about his freedom. Hella and he wanted to be together, but he wouldn’t dishonour the girl by talking with her family whilst still a slave, not that they would even listen to him yet anyway. She was fourteen and he knew that her father was looking for a husband for the young woman. He desperately wanted to be in the position to offer for her. He had enough money for his freedom and for the party for everyone to announce it, but he needed to know how much Buffy would want for a hide of land. It would be hard work to break in a new farm, but it would increase Buffy’s holding as well. He looked at the collection of pennies. He had a pound in silver, plus another 14 pennies, nearly fifteen years of saving.

Buffy smiled quietly. She had invited Ingvar and his daughter Hella to her hall that very night, along with most of the surrounding holders. Jon had worked for her since he was six years old, and tonight she was going to grant his freedom.

The hall was buzzing with activity. Jon hadn’t arrived back from his day’s work: she had sent him to the furthest meadow she could just to ensure he didn’t see all the arrivals at the hall, and now she was on guard duty to ensure he didn’t arrive back early. It was nearly dusk before she and Nordlys put in an appearance. The hall had been decorated and a fine feast was laid out on the tables. She could smell the stew and the ginger cakes. Jon wouldn’t know what had hit him. Buffy laughed to herself, actually, yes he would. Buffy would hit him that very evening during the freedom ceremony.

Buffy changed into her best hangeroc and her silver gilt brooches. She could hear late arrivals being welcomed as well as the sound of the cows coming back in for milking. One of the other workers ran outside with the message for Jon to get the work done quickly before heading inside for feeding as Buffy welcomed all her guests.

‘Eirik? Jarl Leif , Hauldr Hafdan, Speaker Skapti,’ she called out in surprise, ‘what are you doing here? Not that you aren’t welcome because you are, always…’ she started to babble.

‘Don’t you just love it when you throw her so completely off balance, she just babbles on…’ the Jarl laughed and held his arms out for his foster daughter to have a hug.

Buffy laughed and stuck out her tongue at her liege Lord and foster father.

‘You are more than welcome but it must be serious business to bring you so far from your own homes.’ She held on tightly to the man that had been the only father she had wanted.

‘The whole place seems to be expecting us, you have the whole of the holding here.’

‘We have a freeing tonight. Jon, you know, the redhead that’s been with me for years?’

‘Wonderful! Then we have a lot to celebrate.’

The men made their way into the hall and accepted ale from the women. When they heard the noise of the cows being taken back to the home field for the night Leif and Hafdan went outside and grabbed poor Jon by the arms just as he was securing the gate. They marched him to the hall without saying a word to him: they could feel Jon shaking under their hands and shared a sly smile.

‘Your mistress wants you now, boy,’ Hafdan growled as they pulled him through the door.

Poor Jon was terrified. He had asked for his freedom and he had angered Buffy: his precious Buffy and now he would pay for it. Buffy could order him killed without a second thought. He was at her mercy.

He was shoved down onto his knees in front of his mistress. He didn’t really notice the hall full of his neighbours, all he saw were the warriors, the weapons and his lady. His smiling lady. She didn’t look mad, in fact she looked happier than she had since Master William had left.

Jon looked up into her eyes then around the room. Everyone who knew him was there, including Hella and she was smiling as well. What was going on?

‘Jon, I understand you want to be free of me?’ Buffy asked in her best Holder voice; it echoed around the room.

‘Yes, my Lady,’ he stuttered, still shaking.

‘You have served me long and well. I will grant you your wish.’ She slapped him hard across the face. ‘That is the last blow you will ever receive as a thrall, you are free, free to work or not, free to speak or not, and most importantly, free to starve.’


She helped Jon to his feet. The poor man couldn’t believe his luck: free!

Jon looked around the room properly. Buffy was kissing his cheek, it felt like butterfly wings across his face. Free. Jon looked towards Hella, she was smiling broadly at him, waiting her turn to come forward to congratulate the man.

Ingvar looked towards his daughter. He had been a woodsmith all his life, and he had served Buffy faithfully. She had supported him when times were hard. If Buffy spoke for the man, he would look favourably on Jon’s suit of Hella. Ingvar held out his hand to Jon and shook it.

‘Congratulations,’ he said simply.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Jon replied.

‘Not sir, Jon, my name is Ingvar.’ He gave Jon the use of his given name. He had also turned the man a new bowl and cup, his first gifts as a free man.

Others lined up to present gifts. A piece of linen big enough for a new tunic, leather for new shoes, and a fine scabbard and a new cloak. Jon was overwhelmed by the gifts that were piling up in his arms.

When the noise had settled a little Buffy called Jon back to her and presented him with a knife and a silver penny.

‘A knife to protect yourself with: carry it with pride. And a penny towards next year’s taxes,’ she said, handing him the gifts.

Jon looked at the gifts in his hand. ‘I had got the money for my freedom, Lady.’

‘I know Jon, but I wanted to give you this gift. And this way I have to pay for the party. Save your money, you will have bride-gifts to buy before long if all goes well.’ She looked pointedly towards Hella. ‘Now we have business to discuss. How do you intend to support yourself now that you are free?’ Buffy tried to get the man to focus on what she was saying, but it was obvious he was having a hard time taking it all in.

‘I am willing to work if you’ll have me lady, if not I’ll find work elsewhere.’

‘Well. There is the old farm: Crock’s place. It’s four hides of land but hasn’t been worked for eight years. It will take hard work to make it pay, but if you would like, it’s yours.’

‘My Lady?’ Jon was waiting for the bad news. Everything was going his way for the first time in his life, he couldn’t believe that his luck was so good on this night.

‘I mean it, it’s all yours, but I think you’ll need help,’ she smiled across at Hella. ‘I will leave you to think about it; give me your answer next week. Until then, you are more than welcome to continue here, in fact why don’t you stay and work here over the winter? I will see to your food and lodgings, and pay you a fair wage. You can start the farm come the spring, the money I pay will be useful for buying seeds and livestock.’

Buffy smiled again as the young couple were drawn to one another. She was glad she could help them.

She made her way across to her foster father and his friends.

‘That went well I thought, you had the poor man scared out of his mind,’ she grinned at them, noticing they seemed as nervous of her as Jon had earlier. ‘Now I honestly don’t think you have come all this way simply to see a slave freed, so are you going to tell me what this is about or do I have to watch you dance around each other like mice around a cat?’

Lord Leif cleared his throat and looked at Hafdan, who looked at looked at Eirik.

‘Well gentlemen, are we going to continue this circle dance or is one of you going to actually, you know, talk?’ It was no longer funny and Buffy wanted answers.

Eirik took a deep breath and started. ‘There’s a chance for a treaty with Athelred of Mercia. It’s huge: new settlements, overwintering grounds, land and markets, but…’

‘But?’ Buffy was almost amused by the reluctance the men were showing, almost but not quite. They were hiding something and she wanted to know what it was and how it affected her little family.

‘But they want it sealed with a marriage.’

‘Nordlys is a little young…’ joked Buffy a little seriously.

‘It’s a remarkable treaty, Buffy. We get everything we want. They have suggested quite a remarkable man for the wedding. Ingimund himself has been to Chester with his family and met the Lord and Lady of Mercia. They have settled all the details between them. The marriage would take place in that town at the new church they have built, under the laws of the White Christ, but they have agreed to a Norse ceremony as well.’

‘It sounds wonderful, but I still think Nordlys is too young,’ Buffy repeated.

‘There is a nice holding for the couple there, on the borders between the Saxon and Norse enclaves. A beautiful new hall will be built and there will be livestock and if the couple want they could even come and live back here.’

‘That is all very well, but there are only two women of sufficient rank here for that sort of marriage: Nordlys and me. And I still say she is too young, she hasn’t even seen a year yet.’ Buffy was getting cross. She didn’t notice the looks the men were giving her and the smiles in their eyes.

‘Buffy, they want you, not Nordlys. You are to be the bride. Ingimund has asked specifically for you.’

Buffy couldn’t speak, she felt her heart sink in her chest.

‘Leif, you promised that I wouldn’t have to marry. I couldn’t let another man touch me after William; you promised!’

‘I promised and I have never gone back on my word Elizabeth: never, and I’m not going to now. Buffy, listen to me: William of Wessex is the man they suggest as their emissary, if you are willing to be ours.’

‘What??’ Buffy wasn’t sure she had heard correctly, was Lord Leif really saying what she thought he was?

‘William of Wessex, he has risen incredibly high in the Mercian court and he is the man who will be waiting at the church, if you are the woman who will be joining him,’ Eirik explained to Buffy. ‘I was there, I saw him, he is fit and well and missing you. He has agreed to everything, provided you stand by his side.’

Buffy, for the first time in her life, felt the world spin, and fainted into her foster father’s arms.

William stood on the city walls watching the mist. If all had gone well, today was the day he would see his bride. Liam and Harold took their places at his side. They had been persuaded by Edmund to attend the wedding, but weren’t happy with the situation: Liam still sported the black eye from the last disagreement he’d had with his mother’s youngest child. He refused to even think of him as a brother, refused even to use his given name unless he had to; they had been teasing and tormenting the man all winter with the fact that he was being married off to cement a treaty that would benefit Mercians. Oh yes, he had been given an estate at Saughall, but that was small reward for having to marry a Norse woman, a widow with a grown son.

‘I wonder how old she is?’ Liam started up again, looking to see if William would react.

‘Well her son has seen 21 summers, at least so that would make her near mother’s age.’ William ignored Harold as well. His brothers could say what they liked: the day before, the rider had arrived from Ingimund’s hall to let them know the ship had made the crossing safely and his bride was just miles away.

‘Could you imagine bedding someone that old and worn out?’ Liam couldn’t help himself, he just had to keep teasing. ‘You’d have to keep your eyes shut the whole time!’

‘I bet she doesn’t even have all her teeth!!’ Harold started up laughing fit to burst. The mere thought of their little brother having to bed some toothless old hag just for politics made them glad for the women they had married, and trained. William ignored them both and kept his eyes on the river and the mist.

For William it had been a long and hard winter. He hadn’t expected it to be, but from the time of the Great Meeting between Athelred and Ingimund and the coming of spring he had felt every day drag as though it was as long as a year.

The worst of all was he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. The leaders had made him promise not to speak of his knowledge of the bride, except in the broadest terms. Liam and Harold had tried to disrupt the conference: they had tried every trick they knew to cause as much trouble as possible. One night William had gone back to his place by the fire to sleep, only to find Dru waiting in his bed. She was as naked as the day she had been born. Darla had been in Eirik’s, which was right by the side of his. William laughed out loud as he remembered the fuss both women had made when they were dragged out of their hiding places, naked, and paraded, naked, up to the high chair. Seems the idea had been to accuse Eirik and William of taking advantage of them when they were drunk. They hadn’t counted on William and Eirik watching out for each other. They had been warned that if they caused one more problem they would be sent to a nunnery to live out their lives, away from all the sport they loved. Darla had sulked for days, but at least they had left poor Anne alone.

William thought back to the conference in Chester. He had accompanied the rest of the court to the newly built priory house overlooking the river. It was set on the edge of the high cut, giving a wonderful view not only of the city but also of the river below. They could even see the old quarry the Romans had used when the city was first built.

The Great Hall had been cleared for the two courts to meet. Ingimund had brought Eirik with him as well as a number of his hearth-troop. But his wife was also there. A man doesn’t take his wife to war: it was a symbol of the growing peace between the two peoples. The Ladies Fritha and Athelflaed were getting along nicely, almost too nicely for the peace of mind of their husbands.

Giles had again been asked to keep the written notes for his Lord, and William had served as translator for the men. Not that they needed it: Eirik and Ingimund both spoke the Saxon tongue, but mistakes had to be avoided. Thora, the Saxon speaker from Ingimund’s hall, had also come to aid the queens. The three women were often seen talking quietly together. There were giggles whenever William approached. Giggles. He hadn’t known Athelflaed could giggle, he thought ruefully.

The mist swirled across the river, making shadows dance and spin. They brought back memories of the final day of the conference. William had been talking to Giles as he was writing up the last parts of the treaty when Ingimund and Athelred had joined them both. They had pulled both men aside and sat at one of the tables that had been set around the room. Eirik had brought across a jug of ale and cups for them all. William had honestly believed they were going to seal the deal over the ale.

He remembered the look on Eirik’s face as he had taken the cup and drained it. It was that look that had warned William that something else was going on.

‘William, we need to talk to you. This treaty is very important, it changes the whole way we deal with each other. It could be the start of a beautiful friendship.’ Ingimund laughed.

William smiled at that. The start of less killing, more likely.

Athelred had given him the strangest look. ‘We have decided to seal this bargain with a marriage. William, you will marry one of Ingimund’s kin next spring, when this treaty comes into being. Your wedding will be the seal that binds us all together.’

William could still feel his stomach sink with that thought. Athelred had promised him that he would never be married… no that wasn’t true, he’d promised he would protect him from the harpies in the court.

‘Whom am I to marry, sir?’

‘Well, she’s rich, a widow, has a son about your age…’

William had looked up into the faces of the men around him. They were all laughing, even Giles. He could feel his anger burn. This was no laughing matter. He was being sold off as part of a treaty. Well, yes, he had the right to say no, but how could he after all that Mercia had given him? ‘And?’ He had asked through gritted teeth.

‘And?’ Athelred had echoed.

‘Who is she?’

‘Daughter of a jarl, niece to another, favourite of many, good holder,’ the men were having a lovely time tormenting him. William was so easy at the moment, they had finally got him on the run. Nothing else had ever fazed the boy, sorry, man, and now the leaders could play.

‘Her name?’ William could still remember feeling sick as he waited for the answer. They couldn’t torture him any more, not in good faith.

‘Elizabeth of Trondheim.’

‘Buffy?’ He couldn’t believe his ears. ‘My Buffy?’

‘Well only if you agree, boy,’ Giles had smiled.

‘My Buffy…’

‘Your Buffy, if you’ll have her.’

Eirik had been dispatched the very next day to fetch the bride.

They had agreed to keep all the details away from Liam and Harold. They would be more malleable if they thought William was unwilling to go through the ceremony. And keeping them in the dark would make it easier to deal with as well as great fun. Accordingly, to the world there was to be an arranged marriage between William and an unknown female relative of high birth.

It had been hard not to show his excitement. Buffy would be his, if she agreed. He had to tolerate his brothers’ teasing and tormenting all winter but it was a small price to pay for the prize that would be his.

Athelflaed mounted the steps to watch with William. She wrapped her mantle around her arms: it was chilly in the early evening and the fog didn’t help at all. It seemed to chill her to the bone. William removed his own cloak and added it to the one she already wore.

‘Thank you, William. Excited?’

‘Yes, my lady.’ William kept his eyes on the river, praying that the next moment would bring sight or sound of the visitors.

‘It will be a fine accord, if they keep their side.’ Athelflaed watched William closely. His excitement was palpable.

‘They will my lady: they love trade and you are offering so much. Ingimund has promised to defend these shores against any attack, and the high road to Meols is nearly finished; you will have rich markets and they will have somewhere to trade.’ He knew she was trying to distract him, but it wasn’t working today.

‘Do you think a town of Norse and Saxon can work?’ Athelflaed watched the mist as well. She was talking quietly, keeping her voice low so that Liam and Harold would not hear their conversation.

‘Yes my lady, we just have to keep talking.’

‘That we do. The tide is headed for high now.’ She pointed to the depth of the river over the ford. ‘They should be here soon.’

Horns and voices could be heard in the distance, the mist covering any sight they might have of the ships they were expecting. It was as thick as a blanket along the river itself, creeping up the banks, hiding trees and visitors alike. William signalled the horn-blower on the wall. ‘Answer them man, before they start to think it’s a trap! They are good with those bows, and things will be edgy enough tonight.’

The long loud and clear note rang out over the city walls. The answering call echoed through the buildings behind them. Then mist started to lift, as though it had been acting as a curtain and the sight that greeted the Saxons froze Harold and Liam’s hearts. Five huge longships were being rowed up the river, every oar hitting the water at the same moment. They could hear the shouts and calls from the crews, and the noise of pipes being played to keep the men in stroke. The shields slung down the side of the ships looked like serpents scales. These men were warriors through and through: it would be hard to defend the city if they chose to attack. It was one thing to hound William about living with these men but to see hardened, armoured warriors pulling on the oars to bring the great ships in was another story. Liam and Harold loosened their swords in their scabbards and watched and waited to see what would happen.

Athelflaed watched as well. She studied William as he started scanning the faces he could see. She had recognised Ingimund, Eirik and Fritha in the first ship, but the others were strangers to her.

William’s eyes had locked into the third ship. There were women standing in the prow. The first one looked like a princess, her blond hair flying in the wind and her eyes scanning the walls. She locked eyes with Athelflaed and there was a small bow of her head, but she noticed nothing else when she saw William gazing down at her.

William’s brothers were pointing to an older woman at her side. ‘There’s your bride William, old enough to be Anne’s mother, grey haired and haggard!’

William glanced at where they were pointing and noticed that Helga was with the ship as well.

‘We’ll see which she is tomorrow when they all come for a meal, won’t we.’

William watched as they pulled into the moorings across the river from where he stood. He wanted to go running down and wrap his arms around Buffy. She looked so good; he felt his body harden at just the sight of her. It had been nearly two years, but he had to wait. Athelflaed had made him agree to a more formal introduction on the morrow. Her brother had his spies: Liam and Harold must not know that there was anything between William and Elizabeth. They had to think this was a formal treaty that they could disrupt, until it was too late.

It was well into the evening when William finally managed to slip away from Harold. Liam had already passed out in the corner of the hall. His brothers had tried his patience all night with their teasing and arguing - all in the name of good fellowship, of course. Never anything he could call them on, but there was always that edge to it. Lady Anne saw him slide carefully through the second door of the hall and, grabbing her cloak, she followed him outside.

‘Are you alright William?’ she asked. She knew how much his brother’s words must have hurt him, but William had kept his temper. A sure sign that her boy was truly a man now.

‘I’m fine mother, I was just going for a walk, that’s all.’ William smiled down at his mother, she looked ethereal in the light from the torches.

‘Please don’t think I am stupid William, and anyway, Athelflaed told me.’ Anne laughed gently at her youngest son.

‘Told you what?’ He asked. He could guess, but his promise had been to be quiet.

Anne gave him a pointed look. ‘I’m not four years old, William,’ she said.

‘You know its Buffy over there?’ he blurted out.

‘Yes William, I do. Were you going across to see her?’ Anne had wondered how long he would have waited to make the trip across the river and to his beloved Lady.

‘I was, but…’ William didn’t want to drag his mother out into the cold night air.

‘Then I’m coming too.’ Anne had made up her mind.

‘Mother, it’s not safe, wandering around at night.’

‘I will be perfectly well. I have you to protect me,’ she answered with a grin as she straightened her full skirt and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. William laughed and undid the peace-knot on his blade: he knew better than to argue with his mother when she was in that sort of mood. He picked up an unlit torch from the pile left inside the porch and lighting it, led his mother through the town to the small gate in the wall they were using.

The guard saluted his lord and whispered, ‘It’s all men who know you on duty tonight my lord. The password is ‘Bachelor’s hall’.’

‘Thank you, Steven. I don’t know whether or not I’ll be back tonight but I will be back before Lauds in the morning.’

‘Very well my lord.’

The wicket gate was opened and William helped Anne over the rough ground outside, headed for the ford that was lit by torches all the way across.

Before Anne could step into the water, he swung her up in his arms and carried her across the river. It reminded her just how strong her son had become: she could feel the pure muscle and sinew beneath his clothes. Buffy is a lucky girl, she thought to herself as she wrapped her arm around his neck.

‘William, you can’t defend me if we are attacked.’ She was beginning to regret her decision to accompany her son.

‘No chance of that: Liam is already drunk and Harold has both Darla and Dru in bed.’ He blushed when he realised he had spoken without thinking. ‘Sorry mother, I shouldn’t have said..’

‘It’s alright my son, I’m neither blind nor stupid.’

The rest of the conversation was cut short by a yell from the far bank. ‘Who goes there?’ was shouted out in poor Saxon.

William answered in the Norse tongue. ‘William of Wessex, to visit the lady Buffy of Trondheim.’

‘You took your time, boy!’ a familiar voice answered. It was Olaf, laughing and holding a torch up high to light William’s face. ‘We expected you an age ago, and it looks like you have a load there.’

‘One that’s easily carried,’ William answered with a smile.

He continued through the fast running water to the shore and gently let his mother find her footing at the bottom of the steps that had been cut into the bank. A great paw of a hand was thrust at her to help her up the steep embankment and William followed closely, gratefully accepting the pull up the bank that had been offered.

Anne looked up into the face of a giant of a man, who let go her hand as soon as she was stable at the top and attacked her son. Anne yelped. Then realised the man was hugging William, and William was returning the embrace. The men were laughing and thumping each other on the back. William turned to his mother.

‘Mother, may I present Olaf, the shipmaster for Connor’s hall,’ then in Norse, ‘Olaf: my mother, lady Anne.’

The giant bowed low and took her hand. ‘My lady,’ he said as he kissed her ring.

‘You run ahead boy, she’s waiting for you; I will escort your mother at a more sedate and graceful pace.’

Anne watched William’s face. Whatever the man had said was tearing him in two.

Olaf looked at Anne and said in her own tongue, ‘The Lady Buffy waits for him: I will escort you.’

‘Don’t worry William, I’m sure… Olaf?’ she questioned her memory of his name He nodded. ‘Olaf will see me safe.’

The two of them laughed as William took off as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. ‘Ah, to be young again,’ Anne smiled.

‘You are lady, compared to me: you are still a child.’

‘Flattery, sir,’ Anne laughed up at the huge man. She should be scared, but William wouldn’t have left her if there had been any danger.

‘My Lady,’ the man offered her his arm and called for one of the warriors on duty to light the way ahead for her. He was as careful of her as if he’d been her own brother and the Lady Anne found herself relaxing in his company as she made her way through the tented encampment towards the hall that had been built. Men called out welcome to her, there were a couple of dogs arguing over a bone, and small campfires dotted here and there. Life was going on all around them, and she felt safer than she had in her own son’s hall.

‘You are a shipmaster?’

‘Aye my lady, that I am. But you’ll be wanting to know about Buffy and your boy, not about me and mine.’

‘I do a bit, but I am fascinated. I know what is in this marriage for us, but for you: what benefit is there for your people?’

Olaf looked at her hard and Anne blushed, she’d lived so long in Mercia that she’d forgotten women weren’t supposed to be interested in politics.

‘I’m sorry: I shouldn’t have asked about men’s business.’

‘It wasn’t that, lady, I was just thinking I now know where William got his brains from, ‘cause his brothers certainly didn’t inherit them from what I’ve heard.’

Anne laughed at that. ‘That’s true,’ she admitted, not wanting to belittle her older sons but having to admit their lack of thought.

‘Well, we get a safe market for our best goods, and a good place to overwinter. They are valuable to us, and for our family; and mostly we get William back where he belongs.’

He opened the door of the hall and escorted the lady into a bustling maelstrom. There were people everywhere. Olaf gave her a minute to fix her wimple that had blown around in the breeze and then shouted across the din.

‘Make way for the Lady Anne of Wessex!’ announcing to all inside that William’s mother was with them. The crowd separated like the red sea, leaving a clear path to the head table. Ingimund sat there with his wife. The Jarl stood as Anne was escorted through the bowing horde.

There was no sign of her son, but Anne didn’t expect that if she thought about it. The Jarl made his way around the table and bowed his head, Lady Anne performed a curtsey and Olaf relinquished his hold on her hand. Anne was taken to the Jarl’s table and sat next to the Jarl himself, his wife on his other hand and Ingimund signalled for the entertainment to continue. Although she didn’t understand the words, Anne loved the music. The man on her left put a bowl and mug in front of her and ensured that she had anything she wanted. She had eaten in the King’s hall but the sweetmeats were delicious: boiled honey and nuts, dried fruits and apricots from the continent. It was then that she realised she was sitting next to Eirik, her son’s friend. She smiled at him in greeting and was about to ask where William was when the servant asked her a question, but she didn’t understand.

The man, Eirik, smiled, ‘Do you want ale, mead or cider, my lady?’ he asked in perfect Saxon.

‘Apple ale if you have it.’ Eirik translated and her cup was filled, the jug left in front of her. She turned to Eirik.

‘Do you know where my son is?’ she asked quietly, not wishing to disturb the musician.

Eirik started laughing. ‘I don’t think I should be telling his mother,’ he laughed again, ‘there again it might be the only way to separate them!’

‘Pardon?’

‘He came in a short time ago, nearly took the hinges off the door and ran to her. They didn’t even touch one another, just stood there drinking in the other’s face, as though it was food for a starving man, never said a word to each other. Then he reached out, grinned around the room and threw her over his shoulder and carried her outside. We haven’t seen them since!’

‘I have,’ a voice came from down the table, ‘and unless we want the wedding early someone had better go out there. William threatened me if I separated them…’

There was laughter around the table again and Anne blushed.

Ingimund signalled to one of his guards. ‘Would you please go and separate the lovers? -And use a bucket of cold water if you have to.’

There was more laughter around the hall and the guard returned after a few moments with the two miscreants, both of whom were blushing beautifully.

Buffy looked around the hall highly embarrassed when she was brought back in. She had waited so long to see William again and hadn’t been able to stop herself. She had been walking over towards Faith when the door to the hall had burst open and William had tumbled in. She couldn’t move at all: she felt as though she had been frozen to the spot by a spell. His beautiful face hadn’t changed, his eyes searched the room till they locked onto her. William drank in her face, the face that had haunted his dreams for nearly two whole years. He tried to talk but his throat had closed up completely. He looked around the room at the friends he had made, grinned and just picked Buffy up and carried her outside.

He could hear the cheering as the door closed behind them but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that Buffy was here, really here, and in his arms. He pulled her around the side of the building and shoved her against the wall. They still hadn’t spoken but words were unnecessary. He leant down and went to kiss her, then pulled back, just to look into her eyes. Buffy licked her lips, moistening them from the dryness that had seemed to manifest itself when she’d seen him again. The next thing she knew was that his mouth was smashed into hers and he was devouring her. His tongue fought for entrance, demanding that she return his ardour with the same fervour that he was displaying.
She could feel his hands skimming over her breasts. William thought that he had remembered every curve perfectly, but her breasts felt fuller, more rounded. He could feel her hands brushing over his chest; clawing at his shirt she pulled it loose from his trews and she was pulling him into her body. He could feel every curve, every muscle, he could feel that softness of her skin that he thought he would never feel again. He thought he was in heaven, then Buffy freed his cock. He was harder than he had ever been, he felt that he was going to explode: her hand was rubbing him gently up and down, her finger tracing the shape of the slit and collecting the precum that was leaking from there. William whimpered. Her fingers were working him and making him desperate. He lifted her skirt and pushed her further up the wall. Buffy could feel the roughness of the wattle behind her, she could feel the night breeze caressing the inside of her legs, followed by William’s hand. She positioned his cock at the entrance to her womanhood and allowed herself to slip down onto him, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. Someone called them and William growled towards the noise and threatened whoever it was to go away. He felt that he was home, the warmth of her body welcoming him in and the soft channel holding him like a fist. He pushed in hard, feeling the tip of his cock brush her womb. He could feel the flutter of her climax starting and her whimpers and cries pulled him over the edge with her. He pumped his cum into her welcoming body for what seemed like hours. He had never come so hard in his life, and they still hadn’t said a word to each other.

They had been kissing heavily, leaning against the wall outside, William with his hands inside her dress and she was riding his cock hard when they had been found. She had felt him fill her with his seed and she had screamed her completion into his mouth when they had been separated and brought back into the hall. Everyone knew what they’d been up to but for once in her life she didn’t care. The blushes on their faces matched beautifully.

Buffy saw a lady sitting in her normal seat and her face broke into a beaming smile. The lady was wearing the brooch she had sent to William’s mother. She made her way to the top table and swept down into a deep curtsey.

‘My Lady,’ she spoke quietly and looked up into a pair of sparkling blue eyes that reminded her so much of William’s.

‘Lady Elizabeth,’ Anne answered with a smile playing on her lips. Ingimund made a sign to Eirik, who shifted up the bench and made room for William to join his mother. Buffy pulled back a little.

‘You go, my love,’ she said and held his hand until the last minute as he walked to his place near the fire. They were the first words Buffy and William had shared.

William took his place by his mother, but his eyes never left Buffy as she made her way over to the benches and pulled out a sleeping child. She came through the crowded hall and stopped before the high table.

‘William,’ she started, ‘I have born a child, a girl: I claim her as yours. Do you accept the claim?’

William looked up at the waking child in Buffy’s arms: a child, his child. Eirik dug him in the ribs. ‘Say something, man…’

‘Wha’?’

‘Say something!’

William looked around the hall. Every face was staring at him and all he could see through teared-up eyes was Buffy biting her bottom lip as she did when she was worried.

‘I’m a father?’ he whispered, not realising he said it in Saxon.

His mother looked sharply at him. She hadn’t followed the conversation at all, and had been surprised when Buffy presented a child to her son.

Buffy nodded. ‘You’re a father, if you accept the claim.’

‘I’m a father!’ he yelled and jumped up and over the table kissing Buffy soundly on the lips in front of everyone.

‘Do you accept?’ Buffy asked again. She needed to hear the words.

‘I accept.’ He took the child from her arms and lifted her up high. ‘I have a daughter!’ he cried. The little girl started to fret and he quickly brought her down and hugged her to his chest. He then he carried the child around to the Lady Anne; Ingimund had been whispering to her, explaining what was happening.

‘This is your granddaughter, Mother.’ He looked at Buffy, seeking a name.

‘I called her Nordlys Anne,’ Buffy said, ‘after the dancers we saw that first night and after you, great lady.’

Anne took the child from her son and looked into eyes that seemed so familiar. She was beautiful, chewing on a wooden rattle that was held in one small, perfect, delightful fist.
William tried to get her back but Anne held tight onto her newest grandchild.

‘You cuddle your lady, I’ve got the baby,’ she said determined not to let go of the child.
The little family sat together through the night, listening to the music and talk that was going on around them.

It was well after midnight that William and his mother were escorted back to the river, Olaf picking up the lady and wading through the ankle deep water over the ford. Putting her safely down on the Saxon side before William and Buffy had even broken from their kiss.

‘I will see you tomorrow for the feast and then we have the wedding.’ William kissed her again.

‘Tomorrow,’ Buffy whispered and she watched him go through the gate and into the city.

The Great Hall in Chester was alive with excitement. The Norse would be here for the presentation of the bride and the pre-wedding meal this very evening. Athelflaed had overseen every aspect of the feast: she intended that her hospitality and the hospitality of her hall would not let Mercia down. She had been a little put out when Thora had arrived at the hall first thing in the morning, closely followed by a couple of slaves, their hair shorn and their iron collars around their necks. The slaves had been carrying a bag each; Thora curtseyed before the Lady of Mercia and presented her with them. Athelflaed could smell the spices before she even opened them: an extremely expensive gift. There must have been a pound of spice in each of the bags.

‘A gift from one lady to another. We mean no offence but thought this might help with the feasts over the next few days.’

‘Thank your Lady Fritha for me,’ Athelflaed said, taking the bags and handing them to the head cook. She thought back to the woman she had met: she was not the bitchy kind of woman, though Athelflaed had enough of those to deal with in court, and they had talked about how hard it had been to get enough spices for the feast. It really was just a gift from one lady to another. She looked at Thora: another sweet child. Perhaps she could be of use this side of the river…

‘Maybe you could assist me if your mistress can spare you. We need to be extremely formal tonight and I don’t know what is acceptable and what is not amongst your people.’

‘Yes my Lady, Lady Fritha told me to help in any way you needed.’

‘Good,’ and the two women sallied forth around the kitchens to oversee the cooking of the great banquet that was to be spread before everyone that night as Elizabeth and William were finally, formally, introduced.

That afternoon saw Athelflaed overseeing the laying out of the tables. Embroidered cloths were laid out first, covering the wooden tables. Each guest would be bringing their own knife and spoon but bowls and platters were being supplied from her household, and they had had to raid every chest to ensure there would be enough. The benches had feather-filled cushions set upon them, the gold in the embroidery reflecting the candlelight around the room; flowers and scented herbs had been added to the rushes on the floor, sweetening the air. The beeswax candles had been changed in the sconces, and the tall candles set around the room. The fire had been built up high to ensure the hall was warmed right through, and the light from it would add to the effect. Athelflaed had ordered good apple wood to be burnt, adding another scent to the room.
The Hall was ready for its noble visitors. Athelflaed had set her maid to sit sewing in the hall though, having seen Darla and Dru wondering around. She wanted no unexpected accidents this evening. They had been talking far too furtively with their respective husbands, and Athelflaed knew they were plotting something and she wasn’t going to allow them even the opportunity to spoil the formal welcome tonight.

Torches floodlit the whole path from the river, through the gate to the hall. Father Gregory had arrived with his entourage to talk with William. He needed to make sure that the young man had given enough thought to the vows he was about to make. The Prior was well aware that although Edmund of Wessex was quite content to allow this treaty, Liam and Harold were determined to upset things. He had grown to like the young man who had been so determined to make a success of his life, and was looking forward to meeting the woman who was destined to be his wife.

He found William sitting quietly with Brother Giles in the chapel: it was one place he knew that his siblings would not go voluntarily. Now that the fasting and austerity of Easter was over, the chapel was decorated with flowers, its brightly painted walls glowing in the last of the evening sunshine.

‘Good evening William: are you ready to meet your bride tonight?’ the elderly churchman asked. He signalled for both men to sit back down on the bench they had been occupying. William didn’t quite know what to say. He wasn’t about to lie to Father Gregory.

‘And how did your visit to your friends go last night?’ Giles added with a twinkle in his eyes. William gave a guilty start and looked at the Prior.

‘What,’ the old man asked, ‘did you think they would keep it from me? Now, while we are quiet I must ask you, William: do you go into this marriage willingly? The church cannot condone a forced union.’

‘Very willingly Father: in fact I don’t think I could enter matrimony with any other woman. We were born for one another,’ William answered with all honesty, his eyes alight at the thought of being with Buffy again. He ran his hands through his dirty brown curls and looked at the elderly churchman. They would have talked longer but a boy came running in to the building.

‘I was sent to find you sirs. The guests have been seen gathering the other side of the river: they are on their way!’ he blurted out breathlessly. He had been a little scared at the sight of all the norsemen gathering together but he gave a little bow before running out again.

‘Shall we go and meet your bride, William?’ Giles asked. ‘I must say I am curious to meet the woman who has managed to alter you so much.’ Giles’ smile took the sting out of his words.

William straightened his floor-length formal tunic and tightened the leather belt a little, settling his eating knife on his hip. Giles and Father Gregory took their places either side of him as escort and made their way back to the main hall. Athelred and Athelflaed were already there, talking with the lady Anne. Liam and Harold were standing close by, their wives dressed in their best. If they were hoping to outshine Buffy they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Horns signalled the arrival of the guests. The doors were flung open and the evening had begun.

Ingimund and Fritha processed into the hall, every inch the lord and lady, the different style of dress making them seem alien to the Saxons watching the proceedings. Following them were men at arms and a group of women. Helga was being escorted by Eirik. Liam and Harold didn’t try very hard to hide their laughter: William’s future bride looked even worse close up, all grey and worn. Liam leaned across to his older brother and pointed out the blond and brunette that were following, either side of Connor. Each was dressed in silk and pleated linen, obviously wealthy and each was gorgeous.

‘Wouldn’t mind taking a poke there,’ Liam said in a not so quiet voice.

Buffy and Faith smiled slyly at one another. They had listened to William last night as he laughed over his brothers’ mistake about his bride, and thought that they might just play along for a short while.

Ingimund was being formally welcomed to the hall, Thora holding the bowl for him to wash his hands and face after the journey. Athelred made formal speeches that were being translated into the Norse tongue; Ingimund replied and waited for the translations again. Although both men spoke the other’s tongue to a certain extent, it was a useful practise that gave them time to think before answering.

Buffy looked around the hall. The walls were higher than she was used to, the decorations very different, but pleasant to look at all the same. She could see the Lady Anne, dressed in her best and standing near William: Buffy felt a blush rise on her cheeks as the Lady gave her a very pointed look and a half smile. The smile reached to Anne’s eyes and made them look even more like William’s and Nordlys’. Darla and Dru came to stand either side of their mother-in-law and looked like a couple of crows guarding their food. They reminded Buffy of a couple of the un-dead who came back to terrorise and eat the living. She shuddered and turned away, resting her eyes on William’s face. His hair was longer than she remembered it, and he had lost weight. She hadn’t had time to notice much beyond the fact that he was with her the night before.

Ingimund noted the position of everyone in the hall: he was a warrior first and foremost. Eirik had carried a blowing horn into the hall. Its note would reach the forces camped the other side of the river: help would be with them if things went sour. He didn’t believe that Athelred would betray the peace, but stupid usually meant dead, and he had lived a long time.

Eirik and Helga stood aside, moving away from the centre of attention, allowing Buffy and Faith to move forward. Liam and Harold grinned.

‘Poor William, having to stick his virgin dick into that!’ Harold whispered to Liam. Athelflaed shot them a look. Edmund had been receptive to this treaty, but the brothers were a known problem. It was the reason they had been sent to the Mercian Court, and their wives were no better.

Father Gregory stepped forward and held his hand out to William, leading him to a spot before Ingimund and Athelred. It was time for the formal introduction. The churchman gave the young man a smile. It was such a rarity for there to even be friendship between married couples before the wedding. He hoped this love match would work.

William took his place in front of the Prior. He had been given a fine gold ring to give to Buffy as a symbol of their commitment, but he held a hand-carved bone ring in the other hand, one he had spent all winter carving. It was covered in saxon figures with a border that copied the tablet weave she had added to his tunic. He was proud of the work and hoped his Buffy liked it as well.

Ingimund escorted Buffy forward and placed her in front of the churchman. That was when it hit Liam and Harold just who the bride was going to be. Their sharp intakes of breath echoed throughout the hall.

‘William, I present Elizabeth of Trondheim; Elizabeth, this is William of Wessex,’ the nobleman said. Buffy looked up shyly from under the cap she had worn to cover her hair; she stared at William’s face and gave a saucy smile.

‘My Lord,’ she said with a small curtsey and William gave a bow.

‘My Lady,’ his grin was equally saucy. They were both trying hard not to laugh as their hands were joined together.

Darla and Dru were furious. They started talking far too loudly; Father Gregory turned to them and tried to quieten them with a stare but they were having none of it.

‘I bet that’s not this Elizabeth: she’s just some slave they have brought to fool you,’ Liam said to Athelred.

‘A serious claim. Have you proof of this alleged Norse deception?’ the king asked with a frown.

‘Well look at her! She’s supposed to be Connor’s mother, yet she looks nothing like him!’ Liam pointed to Connor who was still standing beside Faith. ‘There is no way she is old enough to have done the things she is supposed to have done,’ he stated with certainty. He wasn’t going to have weedy William win such a prize: if anyone was going to have her squirming under them it would be him.

Buffy looked straight at both men. If they sought to intimidate her they were mistaking their quarry.

‘Elizabeth is my step mother, and this IS Elizabeth of Trondheim.’ Connor was barely able to conceal his anger. Who were these men to doubt his word, or Ingimund’s? Nobodies, that’s who.

William felt his heart grow cold. He knew his brothers wanted to destroy him, but this was appalling, to damage such a hard fought-for treaty. But of course: it would reflect badly on him and that’s what they wanted, to discredit him.

‘This is some whore William is trying to pass off as a noble just to get her into his bed,’ Harold said with certainty.

Athelred smiled, but it was the smile of a fox having spotted his prey. ‘Of course, you will be willing to prove that?’ he asked quietly. ‘Trial by ordeal, here, tomorrow!’ he ordered to the fascinated court. Athelred turned to his guards. ‘Make sure they don’t drink to much tonight: they will be busy tomorrow.’ He turned to Ingimund. ‘I trust that will satisfy you as well, sir.’

Ingimund smiled and nodded his approval as Liam and Harold were surrounded by Saxon hearth troops and knew there was no way out. Liam felt the blood drain from his face; Harold felt sick. They would never survive the ordeal; they had just wanted to stir things up. They had honestly believed that their position in the court had been unassailable, they couldn’t believe that people had sided with their pathetic little brother.

‘A wise move,’ Father Gregory said nodding wisely. ‘If they can carry an iron straight from the blacksmith’s forge to the church door without it blistering their hands, we will all know they speak nothing but the truth. Let God decide. Now let us continue with the celebrations. William, don’t you have a gift for Elizabeth?’

William turned away from his brothers and back to his beloved. He held out the gold ring to her and took her hand. There on her finger was the bone ring he had given her the Yule they had spent together. William smiled at the sight of it and slipped the gold ring on beside it. Lifting her hand to his lips he brushed a gentle kiss over both rings before releasing his grip.

Father Gregory smiled. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, ‘William, would you care to sit with Elizabeth so you may at least know a little of each other before the wedding?’

Anne smiled as her son held out his arm to Buffy and escorted her to the main table. He ensured she was comfortable and slipped off the shawl she had been wearing.

‘You look beautiful, Buffy.’

Darla and Dru took a deep breath in and stared at the jewels their soon-to-be sister was wearing. Lapis and glass shone in the candlelight and silver gilt brooches caught the last rays of the dying sun. Buffy pulled out her horn spoon and set it by the plate in front of her. There was so much she wanted to say to William that she didn’t know where to start. Father Gregory stood and said grace before the meal and then Ingimund stood to bless the company.

‘For Faith, Folk and Family: we give thanks!’ His voice rang out over the assembly and then the food was brought in. Anne found herself sat near the charming young man that had escorted Buffy into the hall. She smiled at him nervously and tried to start a conversation, wondering whether or not he spoke her tongue.

‘It’s been a fine day today,’ she said slowly and carefully. Connor grinned and answered quickly in the same language.

‘That it has, Tant Anne.’

‘You call me aunt…’

‘Well you are by marriage, lady: I am Connor, husband to your niece Tara.’ He smiled at her with his open face. It had won Tara round; perhaps it would win her aunt as well.

‘Tara!’ Anne squeaked and reached for the wine. ‘You married Tara?’

‘Yes, lady.’

‘How is she?’ Anne’s face softened as she asked. Her heart had gone out to her youngest and gentlest niece when her sister had died; she had been overjoyed when William had told her the girl was safe but to actually meet her husband was something she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest fantasies.

‘Well. She has given me a son just last year and is staying at Buffy’s hall to oversee it while Buffy is here collecting William.’

‘Collecting William?’

‘Well yes, Buffy wants him to return home after they are married. There is nothing for them here.’

Anne felt her heart fall, of course she would want to stay amongst her own kind and from the tales he told William would be far richer there than he was here.

The talk continued far into the night. William and Buffy were not much pleased at the formal farewell they had to endure. Only two more days and they would be wed… Anne was grateful that Elizabeth was so very different from her other daughters-in-law, and was looking forward to seeing the woman again on the morrow when Liam and Harold would face the Ordeal.

Father Gregory pulled his wet cloak off as he came into the hall out of the heavy rain. He shook the thick material, trying not to soak the men who were still asleep after the celebrations the night before. It had been a late evening, the ale and wine had flowed very freely and most had yet to even surface after the heavy drinking. Gregory knew it was almost too early to wake the hall but he had to speak to Athelred immediately. He pushed his way through the sleeping bodies, trying not to step on any. It was hard. Most men had rolled themselves up in their cloaks and slept out of the way of the passages through the hall, but some had just slept where they had fallen, making it more of an obstacle course than a walk for the old monk.

Gregory could see Athelred and Ingimund sitting at the centre table, Eirik and Godwin close at hand. The four men were treating themselves to more ale in hopes of curing the head nails they were all suffering. ‘My Lords,’ he called out quietly as he approached the centre table. The men all looked up, then Athelred smiled and indicated the bench opposite him.

‘Pull up a space Father, and join us.’

Father Gregory accepted the cup of small ale, and smiled in gratitude at the woman who put a plate of cold meat and bread in front of him. There was even a small amount of nuts and dried fruit on the wooden dish. He could feel his stomach rumble. He had been in such a hurry to get to the Lord of Mercia that he hadn’t had time to even break his fast after first prayers. The men watched in amusement as the thin Prior said a cursory Grace over his food and took a huge mouthful of the stewed beef. They had been discussing the incident the night before and wanted to know the churchman’s view of the situation, but would have to wait until his mouth was empty before they asked him any of his opinions.
Gregory looked at the men around him. There were smiles in their eyes despite the fact that it was so early. They could hear the noises of sleeping folk all around them, and Gregory kept his voice low.

‘Liam and Harold are still claiming that the Northmen have not brought the real lady Buffy, and that William has somehow managed to con you all into accepting his wench,’ Gregory stated. ‘They are insisting that the lady take the Trial by Ordeal, proving that she is who she claims to be. They are also claiming that William has made some sort of secret treaty with the Norse to destroy the city and take it as their own.’ He felt uncomfortable after the interview he had had with the two men. They would not confess their sins, or allow him to give them absolution.

Ingimund burst out laughing. ‘If I had come to war I would not have brought my wife with me, and if I had meant to destroy the city I certainly wouldn’t have put my womenfolk in the line of fire! And why would I want somewhere that is so far from the coast? No, I’ll stick to the rich farmland on my side of the pale and you stick to your town your side.’

Athelred smiled. ‘I certainly wouldn’t have brought Athelflaed or my court with me if we had suspected treachery.’ He turned to Gregory and asked, ‘do you think they will cause more trouble?’

‘Well, the guards have them away from any who might spread the rumours as you instructed, my lord, and have made them stay in the chapel praying all night. But simply, I think their hatred of their brother runs deeper than their sense of self preservation. They are simply brooding on how he has all the luck and how they can steal his good fortune from him. I can’t see them passing any sort of test at the moment.’ Father Gregory said solemnly.

‘We will keep a close watch on that situation,’ Athelred said as he signalled to Godwin. ‘Inform my guards that I will brook no nonsense from anyone whilst our guests are here. Any infringement of the Witan Peace will be dealt with severely.’

He turned to Ingimund expecting similar orders to be given, but the Norse Lord just took a drink of his ale and looked around the room at the awakening warriors. Eirik didn’t seem to be anxious to leave the ale either.

‘What?’ Ingimund asked when the men were staring at him. ‘I don’t have to add orders. Buffy has already threatened to slit the gizzard of anyone who spoils her wedding to William and none of my men are brave enough to face her in a mood. Nor stupid enough to court that sort of danger.’ He laughed out loud at the thought.

Athelred tried to understand the power a single woman could hold. Buffy had seemed a slight thing when he had seen her the night before, but she had been treated with a great deal of respect. There was something about her, the same something his own good lady had, an air of authority maybe?


William was sitting with his mother as they broke their fast. She was delighted to have met Connor the night before and to have talked about Tara all night was a true joy: it was obvious from the way the young man spoke that he held a great deal of affection for his second wife. Anne had to admit she was trying to understand the concept of more than one wife but she would talk to Brother Giles, he would help her. William was full of stories about Buffy and Nordlys. Her son was already besotted by his little daughter, and from the tales being told she had him wrapped around her tiny thumb. Breakfast passed swiftly, and William would soon be going back across the river to see to the final details of the wedding, well the norse wedding. Buffy had insisted that they marry in both cultures. She said she wasn’t having him escape again.

Anne watched as the lords talked quietly and felt her heart sink again. For all the joy she felt in her youngest son, she wondered about the eldest two. How could they be so stupid as to start a fight like that then in front of the Lord of Mercia? But then they were so like their overbearing bully of a father, no thought for the consequence of any action they took, whilst William was her child through and through, from his dark blond hair to his slim figure; unlike the lumbering brutes that she had borne for her lord. At this moment she was no gentle lady, she just wanted them and their wives to rot in hell. They would find out their fate later that very day. It was in God’s hands now: there was nothing she could do to help them. She would just stay out of the way of her daughters until they left for Wessex. She really didn’t need another beating. Anne went back to concentrating on William’s stories and on her breakfast. She would try and go to the market later to find a small gift that Connor could take home for Tara. A wedding gift from her aunt.

William left his mother eating. He had managed to slip some extra silver into her pouch, so she would have enough money to buy some pretty things at the market that was forming in the city square. He picked up his horn cup, a gift from Buffy the night before, refilled it with ale and made his way over to where Father Gregory was talking to the Lords of land and sea. Eirik and Godwin were sitting quietly nearby and William intended to ask the men to stand by him in the church when he took his vows to Buffy.


Father Gregory watched as William sat by his friends and turned his attention back to the two lords. He gave a small cough and took a deep breath. ‘My Lords, we have to talk about the trial.’

‘Of course Father Gregory, by tradition and law you should oversee it.’ Athelred said to the holy man.

‘Well, yes my Lord,’ he seemed slightly mollified, ‘but the accused should have at least three days fasting and praying first. Would you allow me to take them to the priory where they may consider their immortal souls?’

Ingimund looked at Athelred. It was the Saxon’s land, but it had been his kinswoman who had been insulted. ‘If it is your way, then we should obey your laws. That was agreed,’ he answered, ‘and I don’t intend to start breaking the terms of our treaty before the marriage has been consummated officially!’ he laughed to himself.

‘Officially?’ Athelred asked. Ingimund looked pointedly at William who wondered why he had suddenly become the centre of interest to the North Lord. Ingimund’s beard bristled as he grinned in the young man’s direction. ‘I think there was some putting of carts before horses the other night…’

‘Ahh,’ Athelred smiled as well. ‘It’s nice to know that their won’t be any complications on the wedding night,’ he added and turned back to the cleric, who hadn’t quite managed to keep up with the conversation.

‘Is this meeting something I need to be worried about? Is there a problem?’

‘No Father Gregory, just the talk of married men.’

The cleric blushed. He must seem very unworldly to men like these, he thought ruefully, but back to his own business.

‘We need to do the trial properly; we must seen to be fair…’

‘Of course. You make any and all arrangements you see fit and the men will be under your protection until the morning of the trial.’

Athelred gave a small smile and confirmed the orders to his guard. ‘Give the prisoners over to the care of Father Gregory, but ensure they are well guarded. I will have nothing break the peace of the Witan.’

William and Eirik were invited to join the lords and dice were found. The rest of the morning would be spent far more happily in games of chance and in losing money to each other. William couldn’t refuse Athelred’s offer to join them, and knew he would have to put off going and seeing Buffy till later that day, or even on the morrow. He couldn’t wait for the wedding when he would be able to be with her as much as he needed to be. William refilled the ale cups around the table and signalled to one of the women that the jug was nearly empty. He then threw the dice; even the sight of three sixes failed to cheer him up.


Across the river Faith and Buffy looked out of the hall doorway at the slowly clearing sky. Word had gone round the Norse encampment that traders had set up in the city, there was a market and the two young women really wanted to go.

Helga had taken one look at the grey overcast sky, and chosen to stay indoors near the fire, to carry on with her weaving and talking with Fritha. The women shared kin and it was of far more importance to them to catch up with all the news than to go traipsing around a Saxon market in the rain…

Buffy and Faith knew they would need an escort. A warrior who could be persuaded to go with them to protect them from any harm; preferably a volunteer. Most of the warriors had yet to arrive back from the drinking the night before and that left Connor. Connor who was sleeping as though dead, his head barely showing above the furs on his bed. Connor who hated and loathed shopping with a passion. Connor who had been instructed to make sure that nothing upset the bride.

Faith and Buffy looked at one another and grinned. Connor was their volunteer.



Connor awoke from a pleasant dream about his ladies to find both Buffy and Faith bringing him breakfast in bed: it was a well known and sure sign of trouble. Whatever they wanted from him his first instinct would be to say NO. He looked between the dark pools of brown and emerald green. The women really wanted something.

‘What are you two after?’ he asked groggily, his head not quite catching up.

‘Why would we be after anything?’ Buffy asked in all innocence.

‘Cause you have brought me breakfast and you are not shouting even though you know I have a hangover.’ It seemed very obvious to Connor. Faith traded looks with Buffy. Maybe they had overdone the being nice…Connor was suspicious.

‘Come on girls, tell me what you want then I can go back to dying in peace.’ Connor was a little sharper than he meant to be and Buffy started pouting.

Connor could resist most things, but not the pout. The pout was cheating. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked.

‘Taking us to the market,’ Buffy blurted out and it left Connor wondering which of the Norns he had upset that they had made him suffer the penalty of helping the women with their shopping. But he couldn’t leave them unescorted here. Olaf had made himself scarce as soon as the words shopping and town had been mentioned; in fact when Connor looked around, all the men had made themselves scarce. With a show of poor grace he pulled himself out of his bed and donned his sword. He then picked up the bags of hacksilver they would need to pay for the goods and followed the women down towards the small boat that had been put aside to use as a ferry when the tide was high. They pulled their thick cloaks tightly around them; the ground was muddy after the night’s rain and both women were grateful for the help they received in getting out of the small boat.

The town was bustling as they entered through the gate near the Priory: there were great stone buildings around them, fallen into ruins now, remnants of the rooms used by the previous occupants of the city visible for all to see. But there was a good road that led to the market square, a market full of wonderful stalls. Buffy and Faith could feel their hearts quicken at the thought of all that shopping. They loved shopping. Faith looked around her and took a deep breath in: she could smell all the different smells of the market. It seemed familiar and alien at the same time. There were food merchants and a moneyer could be heard hammering coins in one corner. There were the squawks of chickens held captive in baskets and the smell was as familiar as the landscape was different. The tone of the voices took the women home, as the sounds of the language reminded them they were in a new land. But markets were markets and they would soon learn how this one worked. They grinned at one another and set off through the stalls at a fast pace, Connor following on behind, feeling like nothing more than a very well trained dog.

Faith and Buffy dismissed the spices as poor and third rate, then they found and bought fresh foodstuffs for the encampment and had wandered around for quite a while; then they had found the fabric store. Buffy and Faith had found the fabric store… words that sent a cold shiver into the heart of many a brave man. The price of the linen had made them gasp, the silk was poor quality and way overpriced, but the woollens were incredible, better than any they had seen before. It was worth coming to the source of their normal supplies, rather than trusting their menfolk. The fabrics were sublime, fine woven wool, some still in the grease had caught their eye and was fast diminishing their silver supply. Twills and split herringbone patterns that were the best of a master weaver’s craft.

Buffy looked around for a runner to help carry the shopping, but could see no-one: that was something she missed. She shrugged her shoulders and started to pick up the load she had bought; Faith picked up the other bundle. They were heavy but both women were used to hard labour, and they headed off in the direction of more stalls. Connor wanted to help but knew that he had to keep his hands free to defend the women if necessary. His duty was to be a bodyguard: all the women in the market should have had someone escorting them. Connor followed his women, keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. They were strangers in a strange land, and despite being under the protection of the Witan, there still might be problems.

Buffy and Faith spent a little more silver on some honey cakes, buying extra for the hall as well. They were rich and spicy, the honey running down their fingers and making them sticky. The girls were licking their fingers, both looking younger than their years, their cares a world away for a few moments. The conversation was light hearted and fun when Buffy whipped her head round: she had heard a cry coming from behind the stalls. The voice sounded familiar: it was Anne. Buffy dropped her bundles and her cake and ran towards the cries. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she came around the corner. The Lady Anne was pinned up against a wall whilst Dru and Darla were searching her dress. Dru had her arm firmly across Anne’s throat, and there was blood running down her face from a scratch along her cheek; she was gasping for her life’s breath.

Buffy leapt forward and grabbed for the dark haired Saxon woman, shoving Darla out of the way and sending her flying into the mud. Dru screeched loudly as Buffy pulled her away from Anne. Faith took her normal fighting place on Buffy’s left side; she watched Darla who came forward with a knife in her hand. Faith made a big play of the fact that the Saxon pulled a blade first before kicking her in the stomach and sending her flying again. Dru went for Buffy’s eyes.

‘See to my mother!’ Buffy yelled towards Connor, ensuring that the man was kept out of the fight, knowing that no-one would forgive a warrior for attacking two women. Anne’s bodyguard was nowhere to be seen and the guards who had been with Darla and Dru stepped away from the fight after a glowering look from the northern man.


William was sitting quietly with the Athelred and Ingimund. Father Gregory was pouring another cup of ale when a runner came bursting into the hall.

‘Two of the Norse women are giving some women a slap down, and the Norse women are winning!!!’

The men hurried from the hall and made their way swiftly to the market place: any trouble between their peoples had to be dealt with swiftly. There they were met with an amusing sight, a sight that caused all the men to laugh out loud.

The Lady Anne was sitting on a cart, being given a drink of wine by Connor who was fussing over her like she was his own mother, whilst Buffy and Faith were sitting on top of Darla and Dru, pinning them securely to the floor. If either of the two sisters moved too much they got a mouthful of cow dung and they were swearing and moaning about their treatment at the hands of the vixens from the north. The two Norse women were practicing with the knives they had taken from the Saxons, using a plank of wood as a target. The funniest thing to Ingimund and William were the caustic comments they were making about the quality of the knives, and their balance when being thrown. Athelred watched in amazement at the professional way they were handling the weapons.

The two leaders managed to get their attention eventually by shouting loudly, and Faith and Buffy stood up, leaving Darla and Dru in the dirt. Darla struggled to her feet, trying to free herself from her hem, but Dru jumped up and went for Buffy’s eyes, her nails held before her like claws, talons. Buffy just laughed and grabbed the woman’s wrists, holding Dru away from her face and body: she was still laughing. Dru was screaming and shouting: she seemed to be mad. Buffy needed no help to protect herself though. She was more than capable of ensuring her own safety.

Lady Anne physically shrank away from the noise, her face showing her terror. Connor stepped in front of his Grandmother and protected her from the venom spewing from the woman’s mouth. Connor was a big man and Anne could not see past him as he ensured her welfare. She managed to take a deep breath and calm herself down. Her daughters would not be permitted to hurt her today.

‘Buffy, put Dru down please, you might catch something!’ was William’s only comment on the situation. Buffy was still laughing as Dru was removed from her arms. She had found the whole episode rather amusing. Saxon women, it seemed, were not trained in weaponry and fighting the way Norse women were, and Dru and Darla were totally inept at either attack or defence. Anne had been stunned when her new daughter had leapt to protect her: Buffy was tiny compared to the two women but she was like a wren defending her own. Ferocious.

Athelred turned to William. ‘Are you sure you want to marry her? Life could be dangerous,’ he grinned.

‘Oh, I’m sure.’ William looked towards his lady love with a smile that spoke of his deep and abiding feelings for the woman who had stolen his heart.

Ingimund turned to Athelred and started talking. ‘We had better see what caused this rumpus. It’s bad enough that there was trouble yesterday, but more today is starting to cast bad luck on this treaty.’

‘All the trouble seems to have come from one family, though.’ Athelred pointed out reasonably.

‘Lady Elizabeth, Lady Faith: may I enquire as to the reason you were using these ladies as impromptu seats?’ Ingimund asked. Faith chuckled at the formality of the question.

‘Dru and Darla attempted to attack my mother,’ Buffy stated, ‘and when I took exception to them hitting and pinching her, they were stupid enough to pull a blade on me.’ Buffy looked around for her woollens: she was far more worried about them than she was about the attack by two such inept assailants. She was pleased to see the stallholder had put them safely by him. There was one honest man around: honest or terrified. The sight of the Norse woman fighting had been enough to scare most men, and Buffy was good at what she did. She had protected her own for years and crossing an ocean had not stopped her instincts.

Athelred looked at the woman. ‘They pulled the blades on you?’ He had to make sure that the Saxon women had been the breakers of the truce.

‘Yes: we have witnesses.’ She pointed towards the lady Anne and towards the stallholders who had gathered to watch the proceedings and excitement.

William smiled to himself. There was his Buffy, the one that had overseen the deaths of the men who had raided her hall, and put a cloth yard through the chest of a man who had threatened her foster sister. His eyes turned towards Faith: she was pulling off the cap she had worn out of respect for Saxon mores. She ran her hand through her hair and tidied up the fancy knot she had been wearing. The stares from the men around her just made her grin even more and she pulled the cap back over her long dark locks.

William offered his arm to Buffy and signalled a couple of the men from the hall to pick up her shopping. Connor helped the lady Anne down carefully and gave his free arm to Faith.

‘I can’t let you out of my sight, can I?’ William whispered as they walked back towards the hall. ‘You cause trouble where ever you go.’

‘They started it,’ Buffy pouted, casting her eyes up into his blue ones. She knew no man could have raised his hand to the women, but she wasn’t held back by questions of nicety. She was considered as weak as they were. She smiled to herself: two problems taken care of in two days…now for the wedding.


Father Gregory looked at the two dirty and bruised women. He hadn’t been able to say a thing during the Lord’s questioning, he had been too angry, but now his temper had calmed a little, he could. ‘Take them to the church. They can spend the day and night fasting in contemplation of their sins.’ He instructed the guards as he turned his back on their tears and Dru’s howls. The poor woman seemed to have lost her mind completely.

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and beautiful with that fresh green smell in the air. William had spent the night in church in solemn contemplation of the vows he was about to take. He had not broken his fast since taking communion the evening before but wasn’t feeling hungry. He didn’t think he could eat he felt so sick; he had faced down marauding Northmen, been taken hostage and lived amongst strangers, he’d even faced down his brothers, but the thought of marrying the love of his life left him shaking like a virgin on her wedding night. He was waiting for fate to take his dream away from him. The services had helped, they had soothed him a little; the Prior himself had taken the service and heard his confession before administering the host. William had not been alone all night. Athelred and Godwin had taken turns with Brother Giles in keeping the Bride’s man company. They had not been cruel enough to bring either food or drink into the chapel to tempt him, but the married men had joked with him about his responsibilities for the wedding night, leaving the poor young Lord blushing and mumbling.

Father Gregory was taking a walk along the walls before heading back to the chapel to escort the prospective husband to the priory church for the service. The women rushed past the churchman, bringing his mind back to the day ahead. They were carrying large bunches of flowers and branches, and were preparing the bower for the couple.

To save the Lady Elizabeth’s blushes, a thin curtain had been obtained to protect her from the stares of the men when she undressed. There would have to be witnesses to this bedding; too much was riding on it to take the final act on trust. So Athelflaed and Thora would stay in the room with them until William had completed his duty.

Looking at the reflections of the trees in the water and the clear sky his mind wandered back to the day of the trial: that had been completely different. The weather had been overcast and threatening, reflecting the mood of the crowd that had gathered. The lady Elizabeth had been among the Norse who had made their way from the encampment: they had been armed and armoured. Athelred had agreed to that, and had ensured that his hearth troop, led by Godwin, were equally well armed.

Father Gregory thought about the Lady Buffy, as she had charmingly asked him to call her. He could quite see why William was so enamoured of her, but hadn’t really thought she had enough strength to be more than a figurehead for the treaty. He had been disabused of that thought swiftly. She stood front and center as the blacksmith had his forge pumped up, the boys on the bellows forcing the air through the glowing charcoal, making the fire hotter and hotter until it became white with heat and could be felt yards away from the shelter of the forge roof. She hadn’t flinched when the unrepentant pair had been dragged from the Priory and brought before them all.

Liam spat at her as she waited for the group to pass by her. She watched impassively as the phlegm hit the ground by her feet. She didn’t flinch at all and Gregory admired her strength: she was every inch the Lady at that point.

Darla and Dru were brought down next. Darla looked pure evil, as if some demon had risen from hell and was clawing its way out of her body. Dru look empty. Her face barely registered what was going on around her.
‘Pretty flames: can I play with them?’ she asked the guard holding her arms.

‘No, little one: they’ll hurt you,’ he answered softly. The broken woman had softened most hearts that had seen her. She was like a child again, dancing and talking to the sky, her mind completely shattered by the things that had happened.

‘Harold?’ she whispered, ‘my husband, are you going to beat me again? I’ve been a bad girl, and the stars aren’t singing to me. I didn’t want to sleep with Liam but he told me you’d beat me again if I didn’t.’

Athelred looked at the poor woman. Her hair hung down her back and she looked a sad and shattered creature.

‘I suggest we send this mite to a nunnery and allow her a modicum of peace.’ The King said gently so as not to scare her. He watched quietly as Father Gregory signaled a couple of his monks across to escort Druscilla away. She was quite mad, her mind completely lost to both herself and God.

‘Take her to Shrewsbury. The sisters there will care for her. Tell them I will send money later,’ the King added to the monks who nodded and helped Dru to move away from the crowd. She was spinning and dancing, asking the two men if they could see the stars as well. A sad end to what had once been one of the most beautiful women in Wessex.

Gregory looked across the water again and sent a prayer southward to the poor unfortunate. His mind then went back to the sight of Liam and Harold writhing against their bonds. They had stood before the King and his court, still spewing their filth that Elizabeth was not the Lady of Trondheim and she was just some wench brought in to be used in the ceremony. But looking at Lady Elizabeth standing there so proudly, one could not doubt the nobility of her birth.

Then William had laughed, just laughed at them and the poison they were spewing; they looked pathetic and wretched on their knees in front of the two great lords. Their hair was matted and filthy, their clothes soiled and the smell coming off of them was fouling the air around the gathering crowd. They looked so dreadful, as though they had already faced the torments of hell.

Harold had started fighting his guards when he saw how high the flames in the blacksmith’s fire had been built. He was terrified. In his heart he knew that he was guilty of trying to upset the treaty. He could not bear the thought of William getting so high in everyone’s eyes, the runt their father had called him, and a runt he was. Standing up there in fine robes and wearing a sword that should have been Harold’s… he wasn’t fit to sit below the salt and yet he stood with a sword on his hip, watching his betters being judged.

Liam had started crying, there had been no bravery in his soul at all. Giles had watched in disgust as both men were forced back to their feet as the charges were read. Godwin handed over the parchment to Father Gregory and the learned man started.

‘You are accused of treason, and of incest. You both subjected your wives to ungodly acts and you actively worked against the good of Mercia. How do you plead?’

‘You have no right to judge us: we are none of your subjects!’ Harold spat out.

‘It is true that you gave your oath to Wessex but you have broken faith here, and here you will be tried, and it will not be us judging you but Almighty God.’ Father Gregory looked at both men again. They seemed haunted, lost: but he had to continue. They had been given chance after chance to either repent or prove their words, but they did neither.

‘We are innocent of all charges,’ Liam shouted out defiantly.

‘Do you both say that?’ Gregory asked.

Harold nodded as well. Gregory signaled the blacksmith who used his tongs to retrieve the first metal bar from the flames. It glowed in the overcast light and cast unearthly shadows all around them. As soon as he saw it Harold started screaming, begging for mercy.

‘I did it, I did it!’ he yelled. The blacksmith stepped back to allow the churchman forward again. Gregory looked straight into Harold’s eyes.

‘Do you ask for mercy and forgiveness from the Lord?’ he asked.
And Harold nodded. The poor man seemed overcome by what was happening around him. His eyes started rolling in his head, and he started to foam at the mouth. Gregory stepped back from the apparition that the man in front of him was turning into. Harold dropped to his knees and toppled forward without a sound. Gregory tried to find life within the body, but all he did was witness the final breath of a dying man.

‘God has spoken,’ the Priory intoned before turning his attention to Liam.
Liam of Wessex had stood there, open-mouthed at the corpse of his elder brother. Harold had simply dropped dead as soon as he had made his confession. The guards holding his arms had released their grip at the shock of what had happened and Liam seized his chance. He pushed hard against the guard on his left, and knocking the man off balance made a grab for the scramseax he carried. The second guard was to slow to react and joined his comrade in a heap on the floor. Liam grabbed Buffy by her long hair and pulled her into his body to act as a shield. ‘Who’s going to protect you now, bitch?’ he snarled into her ear.

William drew his sword and looked for an opening to stab his brother, but Liam kept dancing around, protecting himself with Buffy’s body.

‘Well, that’s where your mistake lies,’ she said in heavily accented Saxon, ‘thinking I need protection.’ She reached around the small of her back underneath her cloak and pulled out a wicked-looking knife. William and the rest of the crowd could see it, but Liam couldn’t from the angle at which he held her.

Let her go, Liam!’ Athelred said, trying to calm the man. ‘You are doing yourself no favours by holding a hostage.’

‘Oh I don’t know: you are talking to me, and not threatening me with that hot iron,’ he sounded insane as he laughed. ‘William?’

‘Yes Liam?’ William answered quietly, trying not to inflame the situation any more than it was. The lady Anne was crying, begging Liam to let Buffy go. The hearth troop had surrounded the tableau, waiting for the opportunity to act.

‘How does she taste? Is she good in bed? I normally don’t care for seconds, but in her case I might make an exception.’ He turned Buffy in his arms and reached down to kiss her, keeping the knife at her neck as he did so. Buffy looked her captor straight in the eye.

‘You see, Liam, that’s where you made the mistake, thinking I needed their aid to protect myself,’ she told him quietly.

As his lips descended he made a strange gagging noise and a gurgle. And Buffy slipped out from his grasp. Imbedded in his groin was the knife she always carried. Buffy looked at Liam as he fell to the ground, screaming. Her expression didn’t alter. William rushed forwards and swept the woman into his arms and held her tight, ignoring all the people around them. He kissed her deeply, as though she were the only woman in the world. For him, she was.

Liam tried to throw his knife at William’s turned back, his last act as his life’s blood spilled into the dirt. Godwin and Eirik took the weapon away from him, but before they could anything to help the man himself he too was dead.


Father Gregory thought about the blank look on Elizabeth’s face as she did what was necessary to protect herself. He, like William, had noticed the haunted look in her eyes, and shook off his cloak and wrapped it around the pair and led them away.

He smiled as he pulled his cloak loose. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as he made his way to the newly built church that was to be the site of today’s main event. Buffy was an amazing woman, and he wished them both well.

The noise from the horns could be heard reverberating around the gaily-painted walls of the church as the Northmen escorted the bride through the newly built market. They were coming closer and closer, but William couldn’t hear them.

Scenes from the Bible glowed in the afternoon sun as it flooded through the small high windows and set the colours around him on fire. Not that William could see them. His hands were shaking and his throat felt dry and scratchy. He cared little for the new paint on the walls and clean rushes on the floor. All he knew was that within this day Buffy would be his. Legally under Saxon law he would own her, and no-one and nothing could take her away again. He felt his stomach rolling and feared he would be sick; he had been so grateful that he wasn’t supposed to eat, because if he had any food in his stomach it would be making a speedy and unwelcome return.

He looked up at the priest in front of him and felt Godwin beside him. He was not alone. Athelred stood ready to answer the priest’s questions and Ingimund would be bringing Buffy with him.

The horns sounded louder, closer and there was a disturbance at the church door. The ushers were removing the weapons from the Northmen as they entered the building. Sword and scramseax alike were stacked in the porch to one side; the Saxon’s weapons were already occupying the other side. William wanted to turn round, to see if it really was his bride but he had to face the front and wait. He could see others in the church, including the lady Anne, look towards the back of the church as there was a second disturbance.

Godwin, who had been watching the excitement, turned back to William with a smile.

‘Seems they remembered to disarm the men at the door, but someone has just remembered your future wife’s habit of carrying a knife and has stopped the ladies. Faith and Helga are passing over a rather nice collection as we wait,’ he explained to the shaking man.

Even Father Gregory’s eyes were twinkling. He was getting very fond of Buffy and it seemed among her own kind she wasn’t unusual. His smile got broader as one of the Bride’s women stopped and reached around her back and under her cloak. She pulled out another knife and handed it over to Eirik with a half grin, as though she had forgotten it was there. Eirik stacked Faith’s knife amongst the others and took his place backing the Bride’s party.

Buffy’s face had been completely covered with a thick veil during her walk through the city, and she was relying on the guiding hand of Ingimund and Connor.

William could resist no longer and turned his head as the sighs from the people around him informed him that she was making her way up the knave and to her place before the altar. The little church was packed, everyone in their best clothes, waiting for this moment.

Connor stopped before the Priest and turned to Buffy. Lifting off the veil, he revealed his stepmother to the waiting crowd for the first time.

‘This is Elizabeth of Trondheim, brought to this place for marriage,’ he announced in a clear voice.

Buffy blinked as the thick veil was removed from her head and face. She looked round quickly, searching for William and smiled. He was there, dressed in a full length Saxon court robe: he looked civilised and impossibly grown up. The man who had climbed a tree to get her the sweetest apple was hidden behind formality and ritual. She looked for some sign in his eyes that this was what he wanted. They hadn’t really had time together to talk and part of her was scared that he was being forced into something he didn’t want. Then she saw the look in his eyes and her fears fled, like mist before the sunrise. He was still her William, still the man whose bed she had crept into. The memories of their nights together raised a blush to her cheeks as she tried to concentrate on what was going on around her.

William felt his chest tighten. She looked beautiful. Her hair was caught back in a net that was decorated with precious gems, her dress highly embroidered and looking slightly alien. Green wool over a bright yellow linen underdress, but all he saw was his beloved Buffy, her eyes shining, and that little half smile she wore when she was at her happiest.

She glanced up from under her eyelashes, coyly looking into his eyes. Blue met green and the rest of the world vanished. William and Buffy were lost in their own world: the crowd seemed distant and unimportant. It wasn’t until Father Gregory gave up with the subtle coughs and actually jabbed a finger into William’s shoulder that William remembered where he was.

‘Do you both understand the terms under which you are brought together here, and do you both acquiesce to them?’ The Priest asked in the Saxon tongue. William and Buffy both nodded.

Then the formal part of the service started with the reading of the treaty. The agreement was read in full, in church with Ingimund and Athelred agreeing to each and every clause. It had little to do with two people getting married, and far more to do with two peoples joining together.

Then came their part. Father Gregory looked at the couple before him.

‘With this wedding, this treaty is truly bound in spirit as well as person…’ then he started in Latin…Buffy didn’t understand a word of it. Connor leaned over to her and translated broadly:

‘No sleeping around and get pregnant quickly,’ he said in the norse tongue. Buffy tried hard not to laugh: she could see William’s jaw working as he bit the inside of his lips.

‘Do as your husband tells you, he is your lord and master,’ Connor translated some more. ‘Oh: you will have to answer in a minute.’

William had obviously been listening, because he nodded and said ‘yes,’ very clearly. Father Gregory turned to Buffy and her party.

‘Do you bring this woman here for marriage?’

‘I do,’ Ingimund answered.

‘And do you agree to abide by the terms of the marriage agreement?’

‘I do,’ Ingimund replied again. Buffy prepared herself to speak, but none of the questions were addressed to her. The men spoke some more.

‘He’s allowed to marry you as long as you only have sex for children,’ Connor tried to make Buffy smile. ‘Now he’s asking if there is any reason why you can’t get married, or if there is anyone stupid enough to try and stop it!’

Father Gregory looked pointedly at William who offered the priest a ring. That was blessed and handed back and William placed it over the thumb of Buffy’s right hand.

‘In domine,’ he said quietly, looking into her eyes.

The index finger: ‘et fille,’

The middle finger: ‘et spirituous sanctus…’

‘Amen,’ he said as he slipped the ring onto her finger. It was heavy and gold, with a gem imbedded into the finely worked metal.

Buffy looked around her again. Everyone was cheering and shaking William by the hand. Athelflaed come up and offered her congratulations as well.

‘But I didn’t say anything,’ Buffy said, quietly worried that the wedding wasn’t legal under the Saxon law. She hadn’t given her consent to the marriage as far as she knew. She looked worriedly around and Athelflaed took pity on her.

‘We don’t: we are passed from our father’s property to our husband’s,’ she explained quietly. ‘We get no say in it unless we wish to become a nun.’

‘No say at all?’ Buffy gulped, but then felt William’s hand tighten on hers. She looked up to see such fear in his eyes that her heart felt as though it had skipped a beat. He was frightened that she had been forced, that this wasn’t what she wanted. She sent him a beaming smile, and then a mischievous grin.

‘Well I get lots to say tonight when we do it again for my people,’ she said quietly, so that Gregory couldn’t hear. That bit wasn’t something he was supposed to know about, officially at least.

William visibly relaxed: she hadn’t wanted to back away from him or the marriage. He smiled at Buffy and then turned to escort his bride out of the church and away.



The banquet was lavish. William and Buffy sat at the head of the table, near the fire and were waited on by everyone. Buffy had been showered with gifts including a beautiful wimple from her new mother; Nordlys hadn’t been forgotten either, there was a lovingly crafted doll for her, all dressed in the Saxon style. The child had been delighted and had happily climbed on to her new gran’s lap for a cuddle.

Buffy’s plate had been filled time and time again. Meat, fish and fowl piled high: there were fruits from the Francs as well as imported wines on the table. The bread was soft and white, the flour having been sifted at least twice and it was still warm from the oven.

Buffy and William were feted and toasted all evening. Buffy had drunk too much mead: she was definitely merry. William felt her hand wandering up his thigh and cupping his manhood. He looked at his wife: she was his wife now, and she smiled sweetly at something Athelred was saying to her. She looked so innocent, but she was stroking him to a raging hard on. He was glad that his trouse were well hidden by the floor length tunic because if they weren’t everyone would be able to see how they were tented. Buffy squeezed his thigh hard and brought his attention back to the speeches that were being made. Despite where her hand was placed, she still blushed a little when the rest of the night was mentioned. It was time for the witnesses and the bridal party to withdraw away from the main hall and head towards the bower.

Olaf gave Anne his arm and she looked up into twinkling brown eyes. He winked as he pulled her to her feet and almost forced her to join the group of people heading out of the door. Anne looked around. All the norse were heading out with them, but Father Gregory and Brother Giles were still sitting down. She slowed her pace a little, but Olaf gave a small tug on her arm and carried on walking.

‘Where are we going? I thought they only wanted the witnesses and I don’t intend to see my son’s wedding night!’

Olaf bent down and whispered, ‘you might not want to see the wedding night, Lady Anne, but I think you’ll want to see the rest of the wedding.’
He walked her to the front of the hall and left her beside her son before going across to join Buffy and her party.

Ingimund stood before them all, a wooden table set with food and drink by his side. The cloth on it was one that Buffy had been given as a wedding gift. Anne looked again at the fine embroidery: it was Athelflaed’s own hand that had worked the linen. Anne looked around the hall again: it might have been built in a hurry from prepared panels, but it was as sturdy as any house. The wattle and daub wall had been covered with rich hangings and the women had spent most of the day adding garlands of fresh flowers and greenery to make it as festive as possible. Even though the evening was mild a brazier had been lit with good charcoal and was burning away in one corner of the hall. The bed was covered with flower petals, and had been made up with linen sheets as well as blankets. Buffy’s wealth was on show all around them.

Horns started sounding around the room, bringing both Anne and William out of their revelry. Buffy was entering the hall on Connor’s arm. Anne started to pay more attention.

‘Who enters?’ Ingimund called out.

‘Elizabeth of Trondheim,’ she answered in a clear voice.

‘And who brings her?’

‘Her family do,’ Connor replied.

‘Elizabeth, do you know why you are here?’

‘I am here to be married to William of Wessex.’

‘Is this your wish, and do you come of your own free will?’

Olaf and another warrior stepped forward before Buffy could answer.

‘We offer our protection to Elizabeth if she wishes to leave and ask again: do you truly come of your own free will?’

‘I do so truly come,’ Buffy answered, her face glowing as she moved forward. Ingimud turned to William.

‘Do you come here of your own free will to be married to this woman?’

‘I do so come here of my own free will to be married.’ His voice was shaking. Ingimund took off the silver arm ring he had been wearing all day and held it before William.

‘Do you swear by all that you hold Holy, that you will honour Elizabeth as your wife, love her and keep her safe?’

‘I do so swear,’ William said, grasping the large silver ring. He could feel the strange shapes under his hand and they seemed to writhe and twist under it.

‘Do you Elizabeth swear by the All Father, by Frey and Freya and by Var who hears oaths and punishes the oath breakers, that you will honour and love this man, be a true wife and helpmate to him, support him and care for him?’

‘I truly do.’ Buffy placed her hand by his on the ring and everyone could hear the love in her voice. It rang out across the crowd and warmed every heart that heard it.

Ingimund let go, leaving just Buffy and William holding the silver ring.

‘I pronounce you husband and wife,’ he said.

‘Give your wife a kiss, boy!’ he grinned at William.

William looked at Buffy and smiled; he pulled her into his arms and stared down, losing himself in the emerald pools that were her eyes. He bent forward and then drew back, he couldn’t quite believe she was his; he leant forward again and devoured her lips, plundering her mouth with his tongue.
The sound of the cat-calls and laughter brought them back to their surroundings and Buffy blushed again, hiding her face in William’s shoulder.

‘I don’t think the wedding night should prove problematical to either party!’ laughed Eirik as he shook William’s hand.

Father Gregory could be heard at the back of the hall, as he entered with Brother Giles. The church men smiled at the happy couple and made their way to the bed. Buffy gasped as they started blessing the bed; Lady Anne looked at the expression on her new daughter’s face and hurried to her side.

‘It’s to ensure the union is fruitful and happy, my dear: just smile sweetly and think of William,’ Anne added with a smile. She rearranged her wimple again. Olaf smiled at her, he liked the stamp of William’s mother and he moistened his lips with his tongue. She blushed prettily enough when he did and turned deliberately back to the Priests and their chanting.

Buffy barely heard the noise of most of the guests leaving. The only thing she could hear was her breath and William’s, in time with one another, the rhythm following that of their hearts. Ingimund gently pushed between the two lovers and guided Buffy to a seat. William watched every emotion flicker on Buffy’s face as Ingimund laid a hammer in her lap; Buffy stroked the shaft suggestively with her fingers, making him hotter and harder if it were at all possible. Buffy licked her bottom lip, her tongue poking between her lips as she moistened them, a real promise of what was to come. If he died now, William would die happy. He moved forward to stand in front of her as Helga removed the hammer and returned it to Ingimund. William pulled her to her feet and swiftly up into his arms; as he carried her to the prepared bed she lifted her hand up to stroke his cheek. She couldn’t believe that they were really together with the blessings of both peoples. No: the demands of both peoples. Buffy pulled his mouth closed and nibbled on his bottom lip, her tongue begging for entrance. William opened his mouth to let the marauding tongue in. They battled for dominance, forgetting all about Athelflaed and Thora, Ingimund and Athelred, waiting to witness the final part of the marriage.

Buffy slipped down from his grasp to stand on her feet as the women came up to help her get undressed. The dress of green and yellow, the colours of Freya the lady of fertility and lust, was carefully folded and laid aside for the morning, with her jewellery on top. Buffy stood in just her underdress barefoot and waiting for her new lord. She dug her toes deep into the sheepskin on the floor and was grateful for the heat from the brazier.

The Lords waited on William in the same manner, helping him off with his robes, leaving just the long Saxon undershirt to cover his modesty. Athelred hung William’s sword from a peg by the head of the bed and gave a small bow as he left them to reclaim the ale he had left the other side of the curtain.

Thora pulled back the blankets and Buffy slipped into the bed. The new nettle-fibre sheets felt soft and luxurious on her sensitive skin. As Ingimund joined Athelred behind the thin curtain she slipped off her final gown, leaving herself naked to the world. She looked up at the rafters and smiled. Someone had tied a small hammer and cross into the herbs hung above the bed. She turned to watch William shrug off the last of his clothes, his manhood already standing proud from his body, as he joined her in the bed. It had been too long for either of them and William could hardly believe she was finally his.

His physique could only be described as amazing, from the breadth of his shoulders down to his narrow waist. She longed to kiss her way down the short v of hairs that led to a far more interesting reward. William stroked her arm with the back of his fingers, every touch, every caress making her shudder more and more.


They lay like that, side by side, simply stroking one another’s skin for some minutes, lost in the magic that was them alone, until a cough from behind the curtain reminded William that he still had one last duty to perform.
Buffy smiled and hid her face in his shoulder; William leant down and lifted her chin up, dropping the softest ghost of a kiss on her lips. He deepened it until he was plundering her mouth, making her want more. He ran his hands up and down her arms and slipped them down her hips and round to her buttocks. He pulled her closer to him, tighter against his firm body. She could feel his erection digging into her stomach and groaned. They had no need for words; Buffy wrapped her arms around him and gripped his shoulders tightly, pulling him even closer. William pushed her gently and she rolled onto her back, taking her husband with her.

William took a deep breath as his body remembered the sheer joy of laying between Buffy’s legs. He could feel the cradle of her hips supporting him as his manhood bumped against her wet centre. She felt like she was on fire as he nibbled down her neck and across her shoulder, alternating kisses and nibbles, his fingers exploring every inch of her. One hand brushed down her breast and started rubbing the already erect nipple; he pulled her waist closer, using his strong thighs to open her legs further. He slipped into heaven as he neared her core. His free hand found her nub and caressed it, rubbing it harder and harder, getting lost in the moans and cries she made as he forced her body higher and higher. It was more magnificent than he remembered. He slipped a long supple finger into her tight channel, then another, searching for and finding the bundle of nerves that sent her over the edge. William kissed her deeply as she came from riding his hand, swallowing down every cry and moan as though they were the apples of Idun.

When the final shivers and shakes had finished he looked into those amazing eyes and smiled. ‘Ready pet?’ he asked gently, the first words either had spoken since the handfasting.

‘I have been ready for you all my life,’ she whispered back and pulled herself up to give him a kiss. As she did so she felt him slip the tip of his incredible shaft into her entrance that was wet with need of him.

She wrapped her hands around his neck ad pulled him down to her as he slipped further into her welcoming depths. He kissed her deeply, their tongues duelling and playing with each other as he pushed himself fully home, right up to the hilt of his shaft. Buffy felt tighter than he thought possible, and although she was wet and willing he found the entrance into her body difficult. He felt that his manhood was being strangled and he had to wait until she had adjusted to his generous girth and length.

When the breathing from both of them had settled following the initial invasion William set up the oldest of rhythms, ensuring he twisted his hips to hit the bundle of nerves that made Buffy climb higher and higher. Their groans and moans grew louder and louder, the muttered promises of love less and less distinct as the tidal wave of emotion grew and grew. Buffy could feel her second - or was it her third? - climax approaching; as she fell over the edge of the world she dug her nails into William’s back, her cry of exultation pulling him over with her. He could feel his cock swell and pump into her, every spurt and every twitch proving to him that this was no dream. This was real. He and Buffy were together and no man could pull them apart again.

Ingimund and Athelred smiled at each other as the cries from the bed grew louder and louder. Ingimund accepted a third refill of his highly-valued glass beaker as the final shouts told them that the marriage had been consummated and was now complete. They slipped out of the door, leaving the couple alone for the rest of the evening.

‘I’m glad that I’m not sleeping in there,’ Athelred laughed, ‘I wouldn’t get any sleep at all!’

‘I agree,’ replied the Northman as they made their way back to the main hall where the celebrations were still continuing.

Buffy and William lost count of the number of times they loved one another. It drew close to dawn and Buffy was straddling William’s hips as she rode him to fulfilment yet again. William always loved this position, she looked like a goddess as her hair fell down her back and brushed his thighs. His cock felt deep within her, brushing the very centre of her body with every move. He thrust upwards and spilled himself inside her yet again, flooding her welcome body with his seed. Buffy screamed her completion as she collapsed forward onto his chest. William pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and they fell asleep, with him still buried within her body and Buffy using his shoulder as a pillow.

Buffy felt the light shining through the door long before she opened her eyes. She reached across for her husband but the bed was empty. She could feel the heat in the sheets indicating that he hadn’t long left and slowly opened her eyes to look around. Her eyes caught sight of the herbs above the bed again and she smiled. It had been an amazing night; her smile widened as she remembered the way they had worshipped each other’s body until dawn and her skin tingled. She thought she had flown with eagles, he sent her so high.

Buffy reached out for her under-dress and slipped it over her body, then stood on the bed to pull down the flowers. The Thor’s hammer was made from pure silver and had been laced onto a leather thong, a valuable gift left for the bride to remind her of her wedding day. Buffy pulled it over her head and spent a few minutes unwinding the cross from the flowers and herbs. It too was silver and threaded onto leather.

She had tried to understand William’s faith. This symbol meant so much to him and she knew at one time he had considered becoming a Gothi for his own folk. She stroked the surface of the cross and remembered how his face had lit up and his eyes had sparkled when he had read from the book he had been given. Maybe he could teach her about it now that they had a lifetime to be together.

The Thor’s hammer felt cool against her overheated skin, rubbing the area between her breasts. She could feel the power that was supposed to be in Mjollnir entering her body. It sent waves of pleasure straight to her womb. Maybe Thor, Husband to Sith and God of protection and storms was making her as fertile as he made the fields. She hoped so. The thought of carrying a second child, a son, for William made her hot for her husband’s touch again.
‘Speaking of husbands,’ she muttered, and headed outside to find out where her Lord had gotten himself to. She had had enough of waking without him, and had expected him to stay in the bed with her this morning of all mornings.
.
Before she could leave the building a voice caught her attention: ‘Good morning Buffy.’

She peeked out to see Athelflaed and Thora coming towards her carrying a tray with a light breakfast on it. She could see the jug steaming in the cool morning air.

‘We were going to let you sleep a little longer, but now you are up, we have food and drink for you. Peppermint tea and porridge with honey in it - to help you recover your strength after last night,’ Thora added with a grin. Buffy blushed at the implication that they had heard everything last night long after the witnessing was over, and gratefully accepted the food. She sat down at one of the tables that had been set up the night before and attacked the edibles with gusto. The two women sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at the speed she was eating.

‘Where’s William gone?’ she asked through a mouthful of hot tea.

‘He’s over in the main hall talking business with Eirik.’ Athelflead answered. ‘He didn’t want to disturb you, but was going to send a serf with your food. We offered to serve you ourselves this special morning.’

Buffy was well aware the honour she had been given. She wrapped the cross around her wrist and stood up.

Thora helped her on with the overdress and Buffy slipped her feet into her shoes. Athelflaed picked up Buffy’s cloak and put it round her shoulders.
The three women headed across the yard to the main hall. William was talking quietly in one corner, but it was a sight that brought a smile to Buffy’s mouth. Sitting on William’s knee, held securely in her daddy’s arms was Nordlys. She was playing with a small carved horse, biting at one of its legs, chewing for all she was worth. She started whimpering at one point and William naturally just jiggled her up and down on his knee until she stopped. Nordlys then started hitting William on the head with the same horse.
‘You are as violent as your mother,’ he complained to the child, and removed the horse from her chubby little hand but before she could voice her discontent, he replaced it with a small ripe pear. Nordlys started to bite into the fruit, spilling the juice down herself and her father, her first teeth breaking through the skin and into the soft flesh, before chomping away with her mouth wide open.

Anne offered to take the child, but William refused and Buffy watched as he shook his head and pulled his daughter in closer, kissing her fair curls. Buffy smiled again at the tableau before her and made her way over to her family. She slipped an arm around William’s shoulders before Nordlys looked away from her pear to see who was trying to get her favourite man’s attention.

‘Mamamam,’ she gurgled, holding up her arms for a hug from her mother. Buffy picked the child up and wrapped her arms around her, snuggling her face into the magical place between her beloved daughter’s neck and shoulder. The smell reminded her of William and had always brought her peace. Now here she was, William’s acknowledged wife and her daughter his accepted child. Her world couldn’t be more perfect.

William smiled as he saw his wife and child share a special private moment.
He still couldn’t believe it, they were together and he had a child, a beautiful daughter, and she had his eyes. Eirik dug him in the ribs and pointed back to the vellums on the table. William grinned and went back to work. He had an estate to see to.

‘So who are you going to get to oversee this estate?’ Eirik asked as he filled up cups with small beer.

‘I really don’t know: its on the border between your people and mine, just in the right place to be either supported by both or attacked by both. I need someone who is politically astute as well as capable of opening up a new estate. We will be coming back every couple of years, and I don’t want to find it overrun with boar.’

‘The four legged or the two legged kind?’ Buffy asked, kissing him on the cheek.

‘Either,’ William replied with a laugh, ‘or both,’ he added, thinking about some of the idiots he had met. His unlamented brothers would have caused chaos in a hall that close to the new border.

Buffy put Nordlys back on her father’s lap and wrapped her own arms around his neck. The baby snuggled into the crook of his arm and dropped her pear as she fell asleep. Buffy looked over his shoulder at all the vellum spread out on the table.

‘What you doing?’

‘Overlooking the new estate inventories. The hall is tiny, but we can rebuild that, and this is on the new road from Chester to Meols. So there will be lots of travellers. I intend to put an agent in to care for the whole place while we are away.’ He looked back at the lists. ‘It’s going to take time to get things started,’ he added with a frown.

‘Then we’ll take time. My lands can be left for a while, they are in good hands; we’ll go to your home and start work. Once we get things underway, your people can carry on.’ Buffy said simply, wishing that she could read the ink marks on the vellum.

‘Hmm.’ William looked thoughtful. He hadn’t wanted to keep Buffy away from her people for too long, but it might be a good solution.

‘Anyway, no worrying today,’ she said. ‘I have brought you the cross from above our wedding bed, it’s for luck in the marriage.’

‘Don’t think we’ll need much of that,’ he smiled, but accepted the cross around his neck when Buffy put it there. Her fingers brushed the silver where it nestled on his chest and she patted it again.

Buffy looked up into the blue eyes that were staring down at her. ‘You’d do that for me?’ he asked. ‘Stay here until my estates are on a firm enough footing to leave in someone else’s care?’

‘Of course: we are partners in life now, William. We work together.’

Buffy found herself pulled down into a tight hug, in front of everyone as William kissed her fiercely, passionately. Her William.

‘Don’t wake the baby!’ she laughed, her eyes shining as she pointed towards Nordlys, still asleep in the crook of his arm.

‘I think I’m going to be hearing that for a lot of years, God willing,’ he laughed, full of joy and contentment at the way things had worked out for him.

The journey to their new estate was an easy one: the road was clearly marked and the trees to either side newly cut down and piled high. There were obvious camping sites in plain view, all close to clean water and the cut branches had been stacked neatly to provide burning wood for the travellers.

‘We could have booths built along the road for the convenience of the traders,’ Buffy pointed out from her place in the cart. Nordlys had been fractious all morning with a new tooth coming through, so Buffy had ridden there to allow the child to sleep in her mother's arms.

'Booths, Lady?’ asked one of the Saxons guarding the little convoy of travellers.

'They are roofless buildings that are available for any to use when they are travelling: you just throw a sail over the top and you have a shelter for the night.' Buffy explained as she looked around her from her high vantage point. Nordlys squirmed in her mother's arms, still fractious from the erupting tooth.

'Slight problem Buffy, your people might carry sails regularly but mine don't.’ William said with a smile from the back of the horse. He was trying not to show how anxious he was about his daughter's condition; he still couldn't quite believe that he had been given the gift of a family and he knew he would never take such a treasure for granted.

Buffy pouted; she was still trying to learn all the differences between the cultures. It would take a lifetime but she knew she would enjoy every moment of the learning. The look that William gave her promised long nights.

Nordlys started fussing again and took her mother's attention back to other duties. Buffy released the ties on her underdress and slipped the child inside, allowing her to feed to quieten her down a little. She really wished that Willow had been there to give Nordlys something to bring down the fever...Willow! That was the answer…

'William, could you look for a willow tree? We need some bark for Nordlys, it will ease her pain,' she explained, revelling in the quiet now her daughter was feeding. William nodded and started looking deeper in the forest, near the water where such plants grew.

It wasn't long before Godwin cantered up on his horse with a small rattle for the child. ‘This should keep her quiet. Made 'em for my sons when they were small. The willow will ease the discomfort and chewing it will keep her quiet for hours,' he looked embarrassed when Buffy smiled her thanks and rattled the toy in front of her little girl. A chubby fist reached out and made a grab for the toy, then peace reined again for a short while again. William smiled up at his friend.

'Never knew you had children,' he said quietly.

'Aye, three sons and a girl, all grown up now with family of their own to care for; don't need an old man like me around the place.'

They carried on until the early afternoon saw them turning up the pathway that led to their new home.

The hall was ...dreadful. Buffy looked at the ramshackle building and couldn't quite believe her eyes.

'Maggie of the welsh must have kept house before we arrived!' Faith joked as she looked at the decrepit walls and missing thatch. 'Come on B: we can do it, it’s nothing that a few coats of daub and a nice fire arrow wouldn't fix!'

Buffy smiled at her friend's levity. ‘Nothing that a fire arrow won't fix, and it will keep us warm tonight. Let's get the tents out, we'll be camping.'

William felt ashamed, he really should have checked the hall out more thoroughly before bringing his bride to this place. She was used to fine halls and warm beds not this… hovel. Buffy looked at his discomfort. 'Don't worry,' she said quickly, 'I was prepared for this; why else would our great Lords be so willing to send workmen to build us a fine new hall? They knew it was bad, but it’s a huge holding and will be worth a fortune in just a couple of years time,' she added as she climbed down from the wagon. 'We'll be fine, William,’ she added in the Norse tongue, 'we have each other and the Norns and Wyrd have been kind to us; everything else we can build ourselves.' William nodded at her, grateful for her support and love. He turned to his own duties and kept out of his beloved Buffy's way.

Nordlys was playing quietly in the back amongst the sheepskins. Buffy leaned in and secured the braid around her daughter’s waist, then she pulled her skirts up high around her calves and picked her way across the muddy yard to the door of the supposed hall. Peering in she could smell the musty flooring and rotten food. The fire was barely alight and she could barely make out the benches running along the sides in the gloom. It was worse than anything she had seen before… Faith was right, a fire was about the only thing that would fix this mess.

Buffy spent the rest of the evening organising the sleeping tents. She missed the huge tents they carried aboard ship but made do with the smaller Saxon accommodation. It didn't take her long to have the camp straight and the beds made up; thick sheepskins on the floor would keep them all warm and the leather horse skins were waterproof. Even Nordlys had her own area, between her mother and father, her and her doll Alvert both.

The hall roof, at least, was waterproof and sound. There was no evidence of leaks anywhere in the room, but the smell was awful. She spied a couple of women huddled at the back in the shadow, they were sitting doing nothing. From their dress they were either dependants of the hall or slaves, but either way they should not just sit when there was work to be done.

‘I’m Elizabeth, the new lady of this hall: who are you?’ she asked very officiously. She knew she needed to make her claim stick from the moment she started at the hall: start hard, finish off soft, it was the only way to control a household and not have it control you.

‘Hildelith, and this is Sara,’ the elder answered. They seemed respectful enough but Buffy was far from impressed at the state of their clothes and bodies. ‘Are there any other women here?’ She asked.

Hildelith shook her head. 'Just us, and most of the menfolk have left the place as well, they were scared of the new lord.’

‘Well then we had better get to work, and it’s not the Lord they need to be scared of,’ she added with a smile. Buffy straightened her shoulders and pulled off her cloak. She hung it on a peg by the door. ‘Where are the brooms kept?’ She had a determined look on her face and the two serving women soon found themselves brushing out the hall and hanging all the woollens out on a rope to air. Faith grabbed hold of the mattresses from the benches and was last seen pulling them out to be aired over the wagons.

Buffy looked around the hall when the doors were opened wide. ‘All those benches need cleaning down,’ she ordered ‘and can we get the wattle repaired on the walls. When the new hall is built we can still use this one, after all this will be on a highway in just a few months time, and we will have guests in and out of this place most of the summer. It will be a kindness to offer them lodging in a guest hall then.’

William smiled as she flung her orders about in a mix of Saxon and Norse; he translated when there was need, but soon settled himself to his own work. The hall would learn who their mistress was quickly enough.

Just days later they had settled into a sweet and steady routine. The hall was finally considered clean enough for the tents to be taken down and stored in the only rainproof shed they had. The grubenhus had been cared for by someone until recently, and it made a useful store for all the things she wanted to keep away from the weather; the folk of the hall would all sleep together until the new place was built and the others repaired.

The animals had been taken to pasture and the old straw cleaned out and put onto the garden’s edge. The dyke wall was in need of repair like everything else Buffy had seen. Well, she’d built up a hall once and she could do it again. Buffy took a deep breath of the late spring air: it was warm and welcome. The earth beneath her feet was drying up nicely and she had suggested rather emphatically to William that it was time to start sowing the wheat. The kale yards had been cleared under her watchful eyes and the pigs let in to root out the weeds. She and Faith worked hard and long trying to pull the place up to the standards they would be proud of. But it would soon be time for her foster sister to leave and return to her own hearth and home. The month she had promised to stay with Buffy was over and the next ship north would carry her home to her own children, and to Robin who waited for her.

The second week had been spent examining every beast in the hall: cows, pigs, goats and chickens. Despite the promises of both Athelred and Ingimund the animals were old and more ready for the pot than for work. Neither of the two supposed milk cows was in calf and the pigs hadn’t been let into the forest to meet up with a boar at all. Luckily the sheep and the ram had been running together anyway, so the lambs had been born on time so at least there would be mutton later on in the year. Buffy pulled out her wax tablet and noted down that she would have to have a word with Athelflaed, she had promised them whatever animals were needed, in fact whatever supplies were needed to get them through the first year - not that she couldn’t afford to buy them herself. Ingimund had also offered any help that was needed: the shopping list would be huge. She would also have to get Connor to fetch some slaves from Ireland, they would be needed to get the work done.

Buffy looked around the livestock in the yard in disgust; if they were to feed themselves this winter they would have to see about getting the animals sorted out. She pulled out her wax tablet again, taking more notes to remind herself of what needed doing and what they would need.

William had been away from the hall all day overseeing the major part of the manor. There were more than ten families who looked to him as their Lord now and he had to see each and every holder, check each hall and farm and see what needed doing to them all. This home was his, and he had brought his bride to it and she would not disappoint him, he knew that; she would make this hall something he was proud of. Fresh bread had been made everyday, the quick flat loaves that filled the stomach but didn’t take half a day to prepare. And the food coming from the hall was starting to be the sort that William recognised from his stay in Buffy’s old hall, wholesome and filling and full of fat and flavour. Not that Buffy cooked: she had brought servants with her from her own hall. Helga soon had the place in order: she had taken over the fire and just started in on the supplies.

Buffy had been glad to find that the garden at least had been cared for. She found a simple lad by the name of Andrew looking after it: he tended each plant so carefully and didn’t seem to notice she was there when she walked around.

‘His old master beat him ‘til his head bled,’ one of the serfs had told her, ‘he’d been unconscious for days. When he came to he was simple like you see, but good with plants.’ Buffy had watched the lad for a while and made note to ensure that he was cared for, he had earned his bread this day.


It was way past time for the fleece to be plucked, or maybe they sheared it here? What had been happening here? She thought to herself as she bustled around the hall trying not to disturb Helga, who was overseeing the stoking up of the fire.

‘The place has had no mistress for a number of years,’ Helga told her, ‘all the things a woman would do to keep hearth and home together have been missed.’

‘I noticed,’ Buffy answered dryly.

‘It won’t take us long lady Buffy, in a year you won’t recognise the place and on the main road it will gain a lot of trade.'



‘Helga,’ Buffy asked quietly, ‘any chance you could have Nordlys in your bed tonight? William and I…’ she didn’t need to finish the sentence, her blush did it for her.

‘Yes lass, I will, but make the most of your time together, when the children come along there is precious little of it.’

Buffy was grateful for the work, she missed Faith and her quick wits, but her home was here, at least for now. She loved the evenings when she and William would sit and talk about the day's work with Nordlys often falling asleep in her father's arms.

The nights were very sweet to William. Buffy was responsive to his every touch; they shared a bed surrounded by their own people, strangers mostly, with Nordlys holding Alvert close to her, sleeping peacefully between them. William loved the way she sucked her two fingers and took up most of the room; if he positioned himself correctly he could hold both of his girls in his arms. He didn't think he could be happier.

That night when Nordlys finally let sleep overcome her, Helga took her into her own sleeping area. William started to sulk but the way Buffy's hand rubbed the outside of his arm stopped him.

‘Perhaps I wanted you all to myself,’ she whispered in his ear before kissing and licking his neck. William could feel himself harden against her; he had no defence against this sort of invasion.

'What about the hall?' he asked as he started to nibble down from her jaw to her neck. He licked the pulse point there, causing Buffy to shudder against him.
‘We can cover the fire now and take to our blankets, they will just have to close their ears to the noise.’

William grinned as he stood up from his place between the high beams of his chair and picking his lady up threw her onto the bed they had erected at the end of the hall. He pulled the door closed, leaving the hall the other side of the barrier. The small dish of oil burned with a dim flame, leaving the shadows dancing around them. The noise of the chatter actually grew louder as they settled into their blankets, the men laughing raucously and poking fun at the way their new lord was treating his new wife.

‘He’s got her where all the North people should be, screaming impaled under a Saxon sword!’ one of them said loudly enough for Buffy to hear. She tried not to laugh, biting onto William’s shirt to keep the merriment in.
‘How does it feel to have won this fight?’ she asked William, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘Wonderful, but I wonder what they would think if they knew I had been your willing slave in your hall?’ He nipped at her neck, ‘and you know full well I always will be.’

The noise beyond the wall grew louder again, and the comments weren’t so polite. Buffy froze as one particularly loud voice called her a wench; William quietened her with a gentle finger to her lips. ‘Let’s recognise the speaker before we shut them up,’ he whispered.

‘It’s Col, one of the supposed workers from the fields.’ Buffy said quietly.

‘Well him I will deal with in the morning, but right now I have better things to do with my time.’ William leant down and started kissing her again.

Buffy could hardly wait to slip off her over dress leaving just the under-dress covering her body. William leaned forward and suckled on her breast: he could taste the milk as it seeped from her hardened nipple. No Saxon lady would allow herself to be touched when she was still feeding a child, but Buffy was no Saxon: she wove her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer to her.

'Harder,' she whispered to him; whimpering in need, she pulled him onto her breast, forcing his mouth onto her erect nipple, her lips kissing his head, the only part she could reach. She arched her body into his ministrations, delighting in the fire he was lighting in every inch of her skin; she could feel it tracking down her body, making a pathway to the centre of her womanhood. Her juices were beginning to flow thickly, soaking the sheet beneath her; William ran his fingers down her ribs and across the small mound of her stomach. He caressed the skin there, kissing her gently as he did so, remembering the joy at finding out that she had carried his child within her body. He continued downwards until he felt her hips and thighs covered by the linen of her under dress. He bunched the material in his hand, pulling it up and over her hips, freeing the lower part of her body from its restrictions. He was still kissing every inch of flesh he could find but grabbed the dress, and breaking off from the kiss for one moment, pulled the garment over her head, leaving her naked before him. He could feel bare flesh under his questing fingers and he started to stroke Buffy's hip and thigh. He was still sucking on her breast; she could feel every pull at her nipple shoot flames down to her womb. Buffy arched her back against his hip as the first of her orgasms tore her body to pieces, shredding her nerves completely; William slowed his stroking, allowing her to come down slowly from the heights of bliss, before tracing his fingers towards that secret place that brought him such heaven.

William felt the folds of skin that protected her womanhood were wet beneath his touch, swollen from Buffy’s need of him. He undid the braid that held up his trous and pushed them down over his slim hips. He could feel Buffy’s feet pushing them down further; he shrugged off his tunic and laid himself in the cradle of her hips, his hard member weeping at the sight of her, pushing its way into her body. They didn’t stop kissing and nipping at one another, desperately trying to taste each other, the sweat making their skins damp and slick against one another as they moved against one another seeking the ultimate release.

William’s hard shaft found the entrance to her sheath and slipped inside; he moaned as the tightness of her body started squeezing him to distraction. He bit the inside of his busy mouth to stop from shooting his seed inside her; Buffy arched her back again, drawing him deeper and deeper into her body. He could feel the fluttering of her walls as her passion pulled her into oblivion as her climax hit her, and it carried him over as well: he could feel himself pumping his seed into her for what seemed an age before he could pull his member from her body. Buffy recovered enough to snuggle into his side, and before sleep claimed him, he blew out the light before wrapping her in his arms and drawing the blankets over the both of them.

The next morning saw the arrival of the men from Chester to raise the new hall. The songs that they sang as they walked through the muddied lane could be heard above all the noise in the community; they came through the gates and headed towards William as he stepped forward to welcome them into his holding. He was surprised to see Buffy behind him with wooden cups and jugs of ale. They were only workmen, but Buffy intended to keep the traditions of her own home: all would be welcomed properly to her hall.

‘To welcome you after your long journey,’ she said with a smile as she started serving them all. The men gratefully accepted the drinks but seemed a little unsure as it was the lady herself was serving them. They were grateful for the cool ale on such a warm day.

‘Our thanks lady,’ the work master said as he handed back the cup to Buffy with a smile. Buffy returned the smile to the older man as she took all the dirties to the bucket to rinse and left them with the refilled jug of ale and another huge pottery jug filled with the clear spring water they were lucky enough to have.

The workers quickly settled in and got busy with their crafts. William and Buffy watched over the next few days as the hall was paced out and the first designs were sketched in the dirt and orders were shouted. It was going to be a magnificent hall, with a separate hall for guests as well as outbuildings. There was going to be a dairy, as well as storage barns and animal shelters. It would be a mix of both Saxon and Norse ideas: there would be the Saxon buildings with their great roofs and the Norse ideas for keeping food fresh. Buffy was excited as she watched the stream’s course being changed to bring it closer to them and the huge hall being raised in the centre of the clearing. They all worked hard, Buffy picking up the reins and organising the ploughing and seeding of the land; she ordered the supplies they would need, sending precious silver with the messengers to buy the goods. The food was soon up to the standard she was used to, thanks to Helga and the new oven that had been built to the side of the brew house.

On her first quiet and free morning Buffy left the shelter of the hall in the sunshine to go and find eggs. She carried a small wickerwork basket that Kuddy had made her from the hazel that grew in the thicket across the stream. Eggs would supply the hall with another food source. Buffy stepped aside as a bullock made its way through the drying mud towards the far side of the pale where the wood-smiths had set up shop. She loved the way the light played amongst the leaves and she really loved the lack of flying insects. Every spring and summer her own holding had been plagued with the pesky things, and here she didn’t have to cover Nordlys’ crib with a cloth to prevent them landing on her. She picked her way past the mud piles and through the huge trunks of trees that had been brought in from where they had been cut. More were being brought in from the Chester high road. Someone had set up the small bullock in one corner to trample clay, straw and dung into the daub that would be needed to coat the walls, which were busily being woven out of stout hazel wands by anyone willing to lend a hand. Buffy had spent the whole of the previous day at the task and had the sore fingers to prove it.

The farm was heaving with labour: neither Ingimund nor Athelred had wanted to seem lacking in their generosity, each trying to out-do the other in the quality and quantity of gifts that arrived over the following weeks. Buffy was particularly pleased by the 2 cows with calves that had been sent from the town: larger than those she was used to, their white hides shone and their milk was rich and creamy.

Buffy had soon organised the building and the cleaning of a dairy room: it had a stream running under it to keep the milk, butter and cheese fresh during the hot summer and was one of the nicest ones she had ever seen. The slab of stone kept the dishes of fresh milk cool as the cream rose to the surface and the dried calves stomach hung on a hook in the roof beam. All in all Buffy was proud of her new home.

Buffy danced a little in the light spinning round and round without a care, enjoying the warmth and light. She was delighted with the amount of eggs she had found and decided she would ask Helga to bake them for everyone to share at the evening meal.

Col watched as his new lord and mistress paraded around the farm. His anger grew and the jealousy he felt burned deeply into his heart. The wench would pay for the way she looked at him, as though he was merely a serf; he had been born free and his new lord would pay for the lack of respect he had shown Col. He started shouting his mouth off to the other workers who had been on the farm when it had been handed over to William. The mutterings were starting to upset those others; William knew it was happening, but he was supposed to be above dealing with such things. However, if the man continued to bad-mouth his Buffy he would step in and sort it once and for all.

Buffy spent the rest of the morning wandering around the holding investigating every nook and cranny. William’s hall was rich in the timber they could sell over in Ireland and in Hrossey and Hjaltland. That would make up a goodly part of Connor’s cargo next year if he stopped off; then there were the woollens of far higher quality than she could normally get. She had left the Hall women warping up the loom that very morning with a fine six heddle pattern: it would fetch good silver when it was sold at the Thing at home.

She stopped to watch a dragonfly skim the surface of the pond, the light setting its jewelled colours blazing and her mind wandered back to her own home. She thought about how her own hall was doing, and how long it would take them to get this one into shape. William would have to supply an armed man to his Lord as part of his dues every year and Buffy didn’t really want to live permanently in these southern lands away from family and friends. She really missed Faith and was glad Helga had stayed with her; but she had promised William she would stay until his lands were securely managed and she would. She would always keep her promises to her soul mate.

The hall was buzzing with noise that evening. Brother Giles had arrived from Chester with the latest supplies and news that the first market would be held at the Winter Finding, as the Norse called it. Messages had been sent through to Ingimund and Athelred had wanted William to know when his services as Reeve would begin in earnest. There were more messages from friends in Chester, but the biggest news was that Brother Giles was being assigned as the priest for William’s hall.

Brother Giles had been delighted with his welcome: Buffy had made him feel a part of her family, hugging him close and giving him the best space by the fire while she oversaw the running of the hall and the preparation of the night meal that was going on around him. He had a good sheepskin under his feet and a small jug of fine ale by his side. Brother Giles felt that he could get used to the life on offer here. Buffy herself had kept his cup well filled with good ale as they waited for William to arrive back from the fields.

William arrived home just before the sun set, and pulled the stout wooden door closed behind him. He had little love of the cold night air, and didn’t want it in his house. The sight that greeted his eyes warmed his heart. Nordlys was sitting on Brother Giles’ lap playing with some toy or other. The churchman looked fit and well and happy.

‘Giles!’ he called out in delight, ‘what brings you here?’ William accepted a cup of ale and drank it down quickly. He was hungry and thirsty after a day working in the fields ploughing and was grateful to wash the dust from his throat.

‘I have messages from the Court at Shrewsbury, and news of the city at Chester.’ The man said as he rose from his seat. Nordlys complained at the movement and Buffy went to take her from the older man’s arms but William got there first. He never missed an opportunity to play with his beloved daughter: she was the apple of his eye and the true joy of his heart. William kissed her blond curls and held her close; Nordlys was trying to show his her new doll and when he didn’t pay enough attention to her she pulled his hair.

‘How’s the lady Anne?’ Buffy asked as she handed over another jug of the ale they had been brewing to the two men.

‘She’s well, missing you all and Nordlys, but she is happier now that she is safe from attacks by her other daughters.’

‘And Druscilla?’ William asked quietly. It had shocked him when Dru had lost her mind, and he was still a little uneasy with the whole mess that his brothers had caused. Buffy was the only one who knew that he lay awake at nights because of his brothers’ fates.

‘She has settled into the Abbey at Shrewsbury very well. The Mother Abbess Edith reports that her mind is still that of a child’s but she is coping with the routine. Your brother Stephen sent her dowry to the Abbey along with her inheritance from your brother’s estate. The rest will be divided between the three remaining sons: your share will be coming to you soon.’

‘I thought the estate went to the Crown after an ordeal.’

‘Yes, normally they would, however neither of them actually undertook the test, they died before they could, so technically they were innocent. Athelred and Edmund decided to keep things easy and let the three of you take your shares… Harold’s son will be raised by Stephen, away from the intrigue of court.’

‘That’s good then. We might offer him a foster place when he is a little older.’

‘Well my dear, have you settled in well enough?’ Giles asked, as he played with the rattle that had kept Nordlys’ attention away from the fire. Nordlys tried to reach it from her father’s lap, pulling on his arm as she did so.

‘This is shield training like you wouldn’t believe,’ William grinned. Buffy smiled before answering her husband’s friend.

‘We have now, there is plenty of work still to do and although the estate is a rich one, it will take some rebuilding. I think it had been left unattended for a long time.’

Giles nodded his agreement. The gift of this estate had been a two edged sword. It was a magnificent and costly gift, but it needed someone of Buffy and William’s strength to make it work. And from what he’d seen, and what he’d report back to Shrewsbury, they were fulfilling all the promise they had inspired in others.

Evening meal was a riotous affair. William and Giles had spent the night telling riddles and jokes, causing everyone to laugh at their antics: everyone except Col that is. The peasant was sitting in the shadows of the hall, nursing a bruised face and a broken nose. A couple of the other workers had heard him moaning and complaining about the work he had been set, then had listened in shock as he called their lady every name under the sun. They hadn’t wanted the wrath of their new lord to fall on them and so had dealt with the situation. Buffy, as befitting her station, had ignored the whole thing, and knew that William was doing exactly the same. No-one even let the poor man have any food that night. Buffy had heard him being told, ‘you don’t work, you don’t eat,’ and from the lack of effect his grovelling and whining had she knew that her people would support her and the Hall was theirs.

Buffy was hanging out the freshly washed linen clothes on the bushes and enjoying the relative quiet and peace the job gave her. She had spent the morning by the stone lined stream scrubbing the mud and sweat from every last one of the shirts that her hall contained. The hard new soap burned her hands as the lye in it cleaned the clothes; she would have to put on some of that rose scented hand-cream she had been given by Anne.

It seemed that everything everybody owned had become muddy from the daubing of the walls. It had been a long job but it had been worth it: the hall was finally sound and weatherproof long before the start of the autumn gales. Now all they had to do was sort out the inside and finish off the outbuildings. Tonight would be their last night in the old hall and Buffy for one would be most grateful. The little hall was cramped and smelly and gave her little time or space to be with William. And she had volunteered to wash everything through, it was either that or cook, and Helga still wouldn’t let her near the cooking fire.

The new hall at Brimstage had grown during the summer and now with the nights getting darker and the harvest on the way it was as beautiful as any this side of Shrewsbury. The rich colours of the paintwork glowed in the late summer sun and reflected the rays back into the large and colourful interior. Buffy hung the last of the woollens out to air before heading back into the hall to oversee the clearing of the benches. She had been glad that the heavier clothes didn’t need washing, just airing and brushing down.
The Saxon workers had fussed about her insistence that every area in the hall was cleaned out at least every month, but she was mistress here and her word had become law.

She had spent the time well, working hard inside the pale while William worked without. They had fought and wrestled this forgotten and unkempt hall into something to be proud of, a hall fit for a thane, fit for William.

Connor had visited them during the warm weather, and had brought her messages from Willow and Tara as well as some of the profit from her own estates, profits that Buffy intended to invest in the lands she and William were building into a home. Buffy smiled as the memories of that summer flooded through her mind. William and Connor had spent long hours together; it reminded Buffy of the winter they had spent in the north. It was good to return the hospitality William had been shown.

Both men had spent a few days in the city. There was a church being built on the road down to the river, just outside the great walls, just for the use of her people and William had been invited to the consecration. It was not an invitation he could refuse, and Connor had gone with him to see this miracle of Norse and Saxon working and living together.

The estate had been quiet and civil before William left, but Buffy was still looking forward to his return. He would most probably bring Godwin with him: he was hoping to interest the man in taking over the running of his home when he and Buffy returned north. With enough money William knew the man would be tempted. And then they could return home, back to her own home and lands. Buffy gave herself a shake: there was work to be done. The sounds around her had lulled her to daydreaming again. Buffy raised a hand and waved to Helga. The woman was making her way over to Buffy with a grin on her face.

‘I’ve come to get Nordlys for her sleep, Buffy; thank you for keeping her out of the way while we boiled up the mash for the ale.’

‘She’s with you…’ Buffy looked mystified. The last time she’d seen her little girl the child had been playing in the brew-house at Helga’s feet, content with her doll and rattle.

‘No, she’s with you, Hildelith told me you’d taken her.’

‘Get the woman here.’ Buffy’s voice went cold, she was livid that someone had lied to her friend, but most of all she felt nothing but a cold hand of fear covering her heart.

Hildelith and Sara stood shaking. ‘We honestly thought you had her, my lady: we saw you.’

‘I want this place searched from top to bottom. She can’t have gone far, she’s only a baby.’

Her child, her precious child, was gone. Buffy looked around at the shocked faces staring at her: she should be giving them orders but she couldn’t think straight at all. It was an all too familiar sight and reminded Buffy’s heart and soul of the night when Leif died. She couldn’t lose another child, she just couldn’t. Hildelith took pity on her mistress, she knew that it wasn’t her place, but the sight of the young woman who was normally so vibrant, broken and distraught, melted her heart.

‘Right, you lot,’ she said, getting their attention as Helga wrapped an arm around her friend, ‘this is what we need…’

Helga had taken the grieving Buffy into the hall and fixed her a drink of peppermint tea laced with poppy juice. Despite her heightened state Buffy was soon falling asleep from the effects of the drug. All they could do now was wait. Wait for word of her husband and her child. Helga wished that William was in from the fields: that at least was something she could do.
Hoping William had remembered the calls used when he had been their guest, Helga took the signal horn outside and blew the summons. The noise reverberated off of every wall in the pale and sounded its long note over the woods and fields, calling the lord home.


Andrew heard the commotion going on inside the wooden wall that protected the hall from the wild wood beyond. He had spent the whole morning hoeing the herb garden. The days had been long and warm and the various plants would soon be ready to pick and dry for winter use. Andrew walked slowly round the garden again. He heard a noise coming from the corner by the lavender. What he saw made him smile: there was a little girl curled up by the sweet smelling flowers, a small bunch held tightly in her little fist.

Andrew knew that the child shouldn’t be outside the main yard. He wasn’t sure how to get her back there though. Did they talk? Did she understand instructions?

‘Little one, you must not be here. Go home: this is Andrew’s garden.’

The child looked at him with piercing blue eyes, and blinked and as she held out the drooping stems Andrew felt fear. This was his lady’s child! Andrew tried to pull the child but she made a weird sound, as though she was in pain. Andrew looked at the size of his hand against her tiny arm and drew back. He didn’t want to hurt her accidentally. He would never be forgiven by the people up in the hall. He held out his calloused hand to the child and gave a smile. Nordlys smiled back at the funny man and pulled herself up on to her feet, using the bush as a lever. She giggled as she nearly fell, but tears threatened when her flowers tumbled out of her grasp and landed in a sad little pile on the ground, taking Alvert, her little doll, along with them. Andrew watched as the child’s lip began to tremble and a tear fell down onto her cheek. He didn’t know what to do and wished there was someone wiser to help him. He lifted the youngster into his arms and pointed at the marigolds with their bright orange heads.

‘Flowers,’ he said and picked one to give to her, but she still didn’t look happy. Andrew picked up the doll from where it had tumbled and made it walk to the flowers and smell them: that brought a small smile to Nordlys’ lips. She looked very like her mother when she smiled. He then made Alvert pick a flower, walk to across to Nordlys and give it to the slowly calming child.
Nordlys stopped crying as she grabbed the bloom with chubby fingers and tried to eat it. Andrew snapped off a few more stems to keep his charge amused as he carried her home to her mother. The doll was safely tucked into her owner’s arms along with the small bunch of flowers.

William had run home as fast as he could, angry that he hadn’t taken a horse with him; there had seemed no need to use one when he was only inspecting the stream that ran through the network of fields. The horn kept drawing him nearer and nearer to the stockade; he felt a tightness in his chest, and fear crept into his very marrow. He took little notice of the armed man standing on the gate.

‘What’s happened? Where’s Buffy?’

Helga was red from the exertion of using the signal horn and tried to speak but she had to catch her breath. Hildelith spoke up.

‘It’s Nordlys sir, she’s gone missing. Mistress Helga has given my lady something to quieten her and we’ve everybody searching.’ She blushed as she came under the scrutiny of William’s gaze.

‘Send a runner to the fields and bring the men in to help in the search, and if I find out that anyone is behind this, I will kill them.’ There was no warmth in his ice blue eyes, they held the promise of retribution to anyone who hurt his family.

The women nodded and Helga turned to go back to the hall to check on Buffy when a movement from the gate caught her eye. The guard was shouting something and as he moved out of the way they could see Andrew walking through the gates with Nordlys in his arms. William felt himself go slightly dizzy and breathed a sigh of relief, one that was echoed throughout the camp. Helga and Hildelith snatched the child from Andrew, kissing her all over and checking that she was unhurt. Both women were shaking with emotion, tears rolling unchecked down their faces. William then took his wriggling daughter from her carers’ arms and just held her tightly, drinking in the smell of her warm hair and the feeling of having her safe again. He wouldn’t let go for quite a few minutes, his arms seemingly locked in place around her.
Helga smiled and led father and daughter into the hall, guiding William when he didn’t or couldn’t see where he was going. The tears were still falling unchecked from his eyes.

Having fed Nordlys with warm milk and bread, and allowed the women to clean her up, William lay the now sleepy little girl beside her mother. Nordlys would be the first thing Buffy saw when she awoke from the effects of the drug Helga had given to Buffy to calm her.

Andrew was confused by the changes that happened to him that day. William had been relieved and incredibly grateful to Andrew. He had given the man a silver ring after evening meal; Andrew’s plate and bowl had been higher up the table, nearer the fire, and he had been served before anyone except William that night, but best of all, he had promised that Andrew could sleep in the main hall, near the fire forever. The young Saxon lad had never felt such happiness before, never felt so wanted or so much part of a community.


William couldn’t believe how just hearing the story of how far Nordlys’ adventures had taken her made him cold to the core. It felt as though some great icy knife had stabbed him, leaving him shaken and angry. That night he slept poorly, as did Buffy, both sleeping fitfully, constantly waking to check on their child.

Nordlys slept oblivious to the fuss she had caused, refusing to release either Alvert or her flowers. Her mother and father just wished they could find such peace themselves.

Buffy woke early after a fitful night’s sleep. She seemed to have spent most of the darkness tossing and turning, terrified that something or someone would take Nordlys away again. She hated losing people, she had lost too many in her life: her mother and father, Leif and William, and now Nordlys.
She couldn’t hear a single person stirring in the hall, the sun was barely rising, but she couldn’t rest for another minute. She pulled her hangerock over her underdress and slipped out of the bed. Nordlys was still held firmly in her father’s arms, their blond curls mingling on the pillow until she couldn’t see where one ended and the other began. Buffy’s heart filled with happy tears at the sight. There had been times when she would have sold her soul for the vision in front of her.

Buffy let the happiness she felt wash over her, cleaning away all the horror of the day before. She made her way quietly to the covered fire and removed the curfew, letting the air get to the hot embers beneath. She started adding small sticks, watching them catch quickly and bring the fire to life. Smiling as she heard the noises of the hall rousing itself around her, Buffy pulled the porridge out of the embers where it had been cooking overnight. She filled three bowls out and added honey to them before taking her break-fast over to where her husband and child were waking up.

When Buffy was busy in the house a length of rope secured around her waist prevented Nordlys from exploring too far, and William had found the small, child-sized hole in the pale that had been her escape route. A hole that was quickly patched up and sealed so she couldn’t have that sort of adventure again. They were taking no more chances with their precious child.

Buffy was exhausted at the end of the day. She had felt that she had been living on her nerves the whole time, and all she needed now was sleep, sleep in her husbands arms with her daughter safe and sound. But before she could crawl into bed there was the night meal to attend to, but Buffy could hardly keep her eyes open.

Helga watched anxiously. Buffy needed to rest, but her duties wouldn’t allow it at all. She watched as Buffy stumbled a couple of times on the rough floor of the hall. The rushes were fresh this month but they wouldn’t save her if she fell. Helga had had enough: she knew that Buffy should rest, but the woman would push herself until she collapsed.

‘Enough child, you are worn to a frazzle: now go to bed and I will serve the evening meal. You sleep, I think you need that more than food.’ She signalled to Sara to make her mistress a warm drink of milk and laced it with their precious honey.

‘Drink up and sleep soundly; you’ll see things clearer in the morning.’

Buffy sleepily did as she was told. It was like having a mother around again: Helga pulled back the blankets and snuggled them round Buffy’s neck, kissing her gently on the cheek before blowing out the candle that lit the bed space, leaving Buffy to sleep while she took care of the hall.

The night meal was a quiet affair, most of the people in there respecting the fact that Buffy was sleeping. Andrew was almost unaware of the atmosphere, he was just revelling in the fact that he was sitting nearer the fire and enjoying a full dish of the good food; not that he’d been hungry before, but now he got meat in his bowl. He chattered away to those near him, and although he’d been asked to talk quietly, he’d never been happier.

Col sat glowering in the corner, his quick eyes missing nothing that happened. He hated how the dummy was being cared for just because he’d found the brat: it wasn’t as though it was a boy and worth something, just a snotty little girl that was spoilt too much by her father. The child had been fed a portion of stew and was falling asleep in Hildelith’s arms, trying valiantly to keep her eyes open but it was a losing battle as her mother had lost hers.

Col grinned as she was picked up and carried to her mother’s side. He pulled out his carving and started whittling at the piece of wood, pulling the candle towards him so that he could see better and ignoring the complaints from Sara that she couldn’t see to comb her wool properly.

‘Be careful Col, you’re spilling tallow everywhere,’ Helga said quietly. She had no intention of riling the man. He always gave her the shudders and tonight it was worse than normal. Col growled at her and flicked more of the pieces of wood towards the fire, leaving a trail of shavings from the embers to the edge of the sand filled box. William looked over and frowned.

‘Please show a little more respect to the ladies of this hall Col: I will not tolerate rudeness.’

Col gave William a filthy look. ‘Why should I stay here at all? You don’t value my work, always making up to those no good, thieving Vikings, and that wench of yours should know her place!’

Helga took a deep breath in at the double insult; calling them Vikings and Buffy a wench was unforgivable.

‘My wife is just that Col, my wife, and she will be shown the respect she is due. If you don’t like it you can leave at any time, there is no bond keeping you here.’

‘I will,’ he shouted, lashing out at the upright near him. He knocked over the tallow lamp, straight into the basket of wool Sara had been working on, causing the lanolin-laden fleece to catch fire immediately. It went up as though oil had been poured onto the fire.

Sara screamed and pulled away from the area, backing into another candle that had been placed on one of the benches.

‘Everyone out!’ Shouted William, helping the women to get past the flames that were reaching up to the thatch on the roof. The smoke was thick and choking, and the fire eating everything in its path. Helga pulled blankets and skins off of the benches she could reach, throwing them to the men at the doorway. Col was nowhere to be seen, but everyone else was trying to clear what they could of the hall, saving their belongings. William thought to how much they had shifted during the day and was exceptionally grateful for all the hard work they had put in.

‘Buffy, wake up!’ William yelled: she seemed to stir, pushing the blankets away from her body. Nordlys was crying and coughing, her face alive with panic as the fire got closer and closer to them. William grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around his daughter, ensuring that her face was covered as he leapt over the flames to safely. He was yelling the whole time for Buffy but she wasn’t stirring quickly at all. His heart felt like a great weight in the centre of his chest. He burst through the door and handed his precious bundle to the first pair of open arms: it was Andrew.

‘Is everyone out? He shouted, looking round and trying to count heads.

‘Everyone except Buffy,’ Helga told him as she took Nordlys from Andrew and ensured that the baby was alright.

‘She hasn’t woken up?’ William sounded frantic, ‘she was stirring and I had to get Nordlys out: she was frightened.’

Sara started crying. ‘I put some poppy juice in her milk to help her sleep,’ she cried, ‘I thought it would help…’

Hildelith took the hysterical girl into her arms and looked at her lord, but he was gone, gone back into the inferno before them. The flames were lighting up the sky as though it were day.

Helga looked around her at the frightened faces. Time to get them working, physical hard work would stop some of the fear, she knew that.

‘Everyone get buckets and start damping down the new hall and the dairy, Buffy would have something to say if we lost those as well.’ That caused a few small chuckles as people pictured what Buffy would say if anything happened to her nice shiny new home.

‘Andrew, lead the animals away from the fire and tie them up against the far wall; the rest of you get water now.’ She continued.

Orders were shouted as everyone fell to their work, but Helga’s eyes stayed on the door that William had taken. The flames were licking that as well now, and the roof was fully ablaze; she prayed for their safety as her heart broke. Nordlys made a crying sound in her arms and she hushed the child, hoping against hope that her mother and father would make it out alive.

William felt blinded by the smoke: it was thick and black and choked him more on every step. He went down on his knees and felt his way through to the benches. There was no way through to the other side, the thatch was starting to fall in and he could see the flames beginning to lick at the edge of Buffy’s bed. He picked up the top from one of the tables and threw it onto the hearth. It was solid oak and thick enough to not catch quickly. He leapt for the table and used it as a bridge to access the far side of the hall, landing with a thump that drove the air out of his body. Dodging the falling debris, he made it to Buffy’s side.
She was still breathing, her face and body seemed unharmed and even amongst the hell of the fire she looked beautiful. William wrapped her in the thickest of blankets, and then slipped his sword in beside her. He was Norse enough to know what she’d say if they lost that. Picking Buffy up in his arms he turned and ran back for the table top bridge he had made, the fire licking his very footsteps.

How he made it through the door he wasn’t sure, but before he knew where he was Buffy was being taken from his arms and laid on the ground. She was still asleep, but moaning and William gratefully accepted the water that someone handed him. With Buffy and Nordlys safe the whole community watched as fire destroyed the old hall, purifying the ground and leaving no trace.

Buffy surfaced from the drug-induced sleep long before the light from the fire had faded and Nordlys watched open-eyed as her parents shared kiss after kiss.

‘You saved three lives tonight William,’ Buffy whispered as she held on tightly to her heroic husband. She had listened to the story Helga had told and was proud of her Saxon Lord.

‘Three?’ William looked puzzled.

Buffy’s lips held a secret smile. ‘Three,’ she confirmed, ‘Nordlys, me and…’ she lay her hand on her stomach and looked William in the eyes.
She watched as confusion gave way to understanding and he looked down at her abdomen.

‘You’re???’

‘Yes, I’m…’ she replied, laughing with him as he swung her round and round.

William sobered for a moment. ‘What about the hall?’ He asked.

‘Well, Faith said all it needed was a good fire arrow, but I’m not having Col in the new one. I like that one too much to let him burn it down.’

The hall settled quickly after all the excitement. Everyone used what they could to make benches into beds: cloaks and blankets as well as the tanned skins that had been stored away in one of the sheds. Helga was pleased they had filled the mattresses with fresh hay that very day. At least there was something soft to sleep on, and they were all grateful that so much stuff had already been moved over to the new hall.

The men were wrapping themselves in their cloaks, more used to bedding down where there was a space. They had saved a lot of the blankets and a few of the furs, but the majority of this year’s sheepskins would be needed at home, a resource they wouldn’t be able to sell come market day. At least there had been nothing on the loom, so they hadn’t lost a length of precious woollen cloth. The flames had taken a lot of the bowls and cups though, as well as spinning wools and spindles. Kuddy would be busy, using his lathe to restock the hall. Helga knew the following day would be a busy one. The ironware would need rescuing from the ashes of the old hall and everything would need a good clean. She would have to set everyone to the task first thing, Buffy would be in no fit state to work, and she would have to have a word with Sara about using drugs on people without permission. Poppy juice was far too strong to just hand out like that; what on earth had the girl been thinking?

William stayed close to Buffy, not letting her out of his sight: he had been so scared he had thought he had lost both of them. He kept stroking Nordlys and touching his wife, as though he couldn’t quite believe she was there, reassuring himself that she was safe. He put a hand over her belly; his child lay below Buffy’s heart again, only this time he would get to see her grow and swell with his seed. He thanked God again for their lucky escape and the fact that He had sent Buffy back to him.

They settled into their new shut-bed, away from the noise and bustle of the main hall. Buffy and Nordlys were asleep before the last of the men had made their way into the house.

William thought about Col. His temper and his stupidity had nearly robbed him of his wife and child, and the man’s obvious antipathy for Buffy meant that he could not stay at the hall; after all, William would not always be there to protect them. The man would have to go, he had nearly killed them all with his stupidity.

William looked at the wood of the ceiling and thought long and deep. Checking that Buffy and Nordlys were asleep he crept out from underneath the blankets and cloaks they had used to make up the bed and slid open the wooden door. He looked round the hall and saw Col pushing his way up the benches. Enough was enough.

William slid his belt around is waist and headed over to the obnoxious man.
Col didn’t notice who was behind him as he started to spread his blanket on the bench, shoving Andrew’s stuff to one side and someone else’s to the other. He was swearing and cursing to himself, complaining about the place he had been given and how far away it was from the fire.

William let him rant and rave for a short time before tapping him gently on the shoulder.

‘What?’ the man snapped, before he noticed William.

‘Don’t worry about your place on the benches, you come with me.’

Col wanted to argue, but he took one look at William’s face and the sword hanging on his belt and felt his throat dry up. He opened his mouth to try and talk but nothing came out; he could feel his bladder tightening and started to shake.

Col nodded as William led the way across the yard past the still burning embers of the old hall and to the huge gates that protected them all from the wilds beyond. William opened the gate and shoved Col through it.

‘Your behaviour is beyond the pale, so that’s where you’ll sleep: beyond the pale. You can take the road to the city and find work there, for I will hold witness against you if you try to stay near us. You have shown absolutely no respect toward your lady and your actions have cost us the hall and could have cost us lives. It was only with luck and God’s blessing that we aren’t mourning a death at this time. You are no longer welcome here: leave.’ and with that he slammed the gate firmly behind the man.

Col looked around him at the pitch darkness; he could hear noises off in the woods, scurrying and rustling noises that made him feel sick with fear.
An owl hooted and called, flying past him on silent wings. The whiteness of its feathers reflected the little moonlight that was shining and made it seem like a ghost.

Col started shaking, terrified of the turn his life had taken. He had gone from having a home and warm bed and food to eat to having nothing, no protection, no warmth, nothing. Col tried to wrap his cloak around his shoulders, but the wind grabbed it from his hands. It cut through his clothes, making him colder and colder. He was a grown man but he wanted to cry like a child. His grand-mother had always told him that his temper and his mouth would kill him and it now seemed that she was right. He would die outside the pale; he only hoped he could make it safely to the town, and he prayed that he would find some sort of work to be able to feed himself.
His stomach ached from hunger and he knew that it would only get worse tonight. The wind cut him to the core: it felt like knives slicing his skin. He could hear someone whimpering and his heart fell when he realised it was him. He stumbled his way towards the trees and tried to keep warm sheltering beneath the canopy.



William looked at the solid wood of the gate and breathed out a sigh of relief. Col had been trouble since the day they had taken over the estate but now he was gone. Hopefully they wouldn’t hear from the man ever again, but William wasn’t taken any chances: he would order his men to keep a watching eye for any problems he might still cause, and his precious Nordlys would be kept under close observation. He couldn’t believe that someone so tiny could completely rule his life.

William did not sleep well that night: he bedded himself down fully dressed and kept his sword close at hand. It reminded him of another night, sleeping in another hall, waiting for trouble to arrive. He felt nothing but relief when Kuddy came to him early in the morning to tell him that Col had been found face down in the stream. The man had drowned in just 18 inches of water.
William looked at the corpse lying in the mud: Kuddy had pulled him clear from where he was damming up the waters and had turned him over. There was a large bruise on Col’s head and blood on a stone nearby. Water was dripping from the man’s open mouth, his eyes staring sightlessly at the leaves on the trees. It was obvious what had happened: Col had fallen and hit his head, rolled down the bank and drowned in the stream.

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ was all that William could think. He knew that was exactly what his wife would say as well. There was no room for sentimentality in her world.

‘Bury him in the graveyard; it wasn’t suicide and make sure that a priest speaks over his corpse when they put it in the ground. That should make sure his ghost won’t walk.’ William crossed himself and walked away from the problem. At least Buffy and Nordlys were safe from him now.

Kuddy turned to fulfil his Thane’s request. The woodsman, too, could feel little sympathy for the man who would now face his maker. Kuddy crossed himself and went to find a sheet to wrap the corpse in before committing it to the ground.

William was up to something and Buffy knew it. He’d been almost secretive when Ingimund had visited, and just as bad when Godwin had stayed. She kept coming across them talking quietly in odd corners, giving her the strangest looks if she came too close. She kept out of the conversations, not wanting to interfere in men’s business. It was nothing nasty she hoped, William would have told her if there was a major problem and anyway William was wearing that self-satisfied smirk he wore when he had been making her ring.


She looked around at the harvest being gathered in and was more than content; their hard work over the spring and summer was paying off.
The pigs had been taken back out into the woods for their fattening up on the acorns and beech nuts before winter, and their slaughter would bring in huge amounts of meat for the winter. Buffy looked at the old bullock pulling the wagon: it was far beyond its working life and she made a mental note to add it to the list for the slaughter. One of the younger beasts could take its place next year.

Buffy made her way slowly across the yard. It was getting obvious that she was pregnant, and at last the sickness was over for which Buffy was more than pleased. She smiled as she remembered how William had gone quite white when she started throwing up every morning, needing peppermint tea and dry toast before she could even move from her bed. But he’d been sweet and loving; he had held back her hair and wiped her face, helping whenever he could but the smile never left his face, and as soon as her body began to swell with his seed he became more and more protective. She wasn’t allowed to do anything, and although she enjoyed the attention Buffy was beginning to feel stifled: she still had work to do. Hence the walk today while William was away from the hall; she was going to spend a quiet afternoon collecting nuts and fruit from the edge of the woods, close enough to the hall to be heard if she needed to call for help and far enough away to get some peace. Nordlys was helping bake bread, well making a mess with the dough, and was more than well cared for, so Buffy was taking a little time for herself.

William was trying his best, but he was worried, he had never really been close to anyone going through what his beloved Buffy was suffering. William thought back to his childhood: he had been the youngest of his siblings and had been kept first at the local monastery before being sent to Lindisfarne. William looked up at the sky; he knew he was being over protective, he just wanted what was the best for Buffy. Helga and Anne had both tried to reassure him, and as Buffy said, she had already delivered two children safely, but he needed to know she was in safe hands. He only hoped his plans came to fruition.

William threw another sheaf of wheat up into the wagon: it was piling high with the wheat harvest that had been bountiful for them, and tried to shake off his doubts. His plans would succeed. The hall would have more than enough for their own requirements and even some to sell in the town. The estate would make a nice profit even in its first year. He had to just keep on throwing wheat up onto the wagon and ship it back to the barns. His muscles ached, and he had a good tan from all the time he’d spent in the sun, but his barns, like his coffers, were filling up nicely.

Buffy took her time walking through the yard, making sure that she kept out of the way of the big wagons rumbling by with the wheat piled high and threatening to over tip. She watched as the slow bullock was led to the side of the threshing floor and the farm hands started throwing the new on top of yesterday’s collection. If their luck and the weather held, they should have it all in and threshed by the end of the month, when they could hold the harvest home feast. The wagon was unloaded and turned its lumbering way round to head back to the fields, Andrew carefully leading the bullock with one of the hall children sitting on top getting a ride. The little boy was laughing and giggling and his gentle nursemaid walked quietly by his side. Andrew waved at Buffy as he headed under the gate and away.

The ruins of the old hall had long vanished in the three months since the fire, leaving nothing but a bit of charring in the earth to mark its passing. Buffy and William had decided against rebuilding in the same spot; with the new hall it was better to move the guest hall over to one side, allowing for bigger wagons to come inside the pale. The decision had proved a sound one as the yard got busier and busier. Buffy walked under the gate and along the well worn path, her basket swinging happily from her hand.

Buffy and William slept soundly that night, both exhausted from their labours. Nordlys curled up by the side of her mother; her father’s arm protectively wrapped around Buffy’s waist, above the child who lay beneath her heart.


William thought about the huge beach market that was to take place in just a short two weeks and prayed that all would be well. Buffy had checked over the tents and other equipment she would need and had started organising the food and supplies they would take with them. Godwin would be arriving in less than a week to oversee the hall, while he and Buffy along with a dozen hearth troops from Chester would head out to welcome Saxon and Norse alike to the sands at Meols. For this year all had agreed to meet at the first full moon after the equinox; from next spring on it would be every full moon when the tide would be high enough to get them way up the beach.

The longships and people seemed to fill the shore from one end to the other and the Saxon merchantmen had taken fair advantage of every offer. Buffy loved looking around the piles of goods laid out on the sands. This beach was an ideal place for a market. At just after high tide the four great ships had stood off from the shore watching as the booths and stalls had been set up by various merchants, then had turned their prows and run straight for the sand. The tide had pushed them a great way up the beach before they had grounded and the men had jumped down. Everyone was naturally wary at first, but Buffy and William had brought their goods up and started trading quickly, wanting to show it was safe. With the Northmen controlling the sea and the Saxons the land, everyone had felt a little more secure.


The shoreline was filled with people buying, selling and bartering. Buffy was escorted everywhere as was right and proper; William watched happily, as she sold off her goods and bartered for the spices and slaves, furs and linens.

The first night passed peacefully, the wagons heading back to Chester, leaving William and Buffy camping with their men around them. The Norsemen, most of whom were related one way or another to either Ingimund or Buffy, joining them for the night meal.

The taxes raised had been far greater than Athelred could have dreamed. The treaty had worked. William had barely been needed to keep the peace, just the sight of a group of heavily armed men were threat enough to many who might consider causing trouble. The weights had been checked and rechecked and the silver flowed from hand to hand. Ingimund and Athelred had been delighted with the results. Woollens and wheat and dogs had flowed north on the ships, and spices, silk, slaves and glass had taken their place on the wagons and pack animals headed into Mercia.

William watched anxiously as the late arrival appeared on the horizon. He could see the warriors on the side and looked for a face he recognised. He had been alerted by the sound of the horns and he signalled the horn blower to return the call.
William watched Buffy’s face, knowing she would easily recognise the sails. He saw the very moment when she saw her own work pulling the ship to shore and she could see Connor high in the prow waving like mad. Beside him was a woman. A woman dressed in the Northern style, her silver brooches on her breast catching the rays of the setting sun. The horn sounded again as the travellers got closer and closer; Buffy scanned the faces, trying to recognise who was by her stepson’s side. Connor’s arm was wrapped around her waist and then Buffy screamed and started waving like a crazy woman. Tara stood by her husband’s side, a fine fur cloak around her shoulders and her hair long and free from covering.

Tara waved as she saw her friend and her cousin, her heart jumping in her chest. The voyage had been an easy one, though she had faced it with trepidation. At least she’d been carried aboard with more care this time and not dumped like cargo; the ship had been a wide merchantman, rather than the sleek longship she had originally travelled north in, and the men respectful and polite, taking care to ensure her tent was put in the circle of theirs and that she had everything she wanted. Connor had accompanied her on the ship, grinning: every time he watched her, she looked at him. Tara had enjoyed the private time with her husband and they had shared the tent when Connor hadn’t been on watch. Willow had had to stay behind, she had found herself with child again and the sea voyage hadn’t been thought a good idea. So Willow had stayed with both of their children and Tara had travelled to be with the kinswoman who needed her.

She jumped down and ran towards her kinfolk, her arms held out to hug Buffy and William. Buffy who couldn’t believe her eyes as her friend came across the sands towards her: Tara here in the Saxon lands? She looked around in wonder at her husband and stepson; Connor and William were laughing at her response.

‘Nice surprise?’ William asked quietly, his voice full of mirth.

‘Lovely surprise!’ she answered, her eyes filled with happy tears. ‘But why?’

‘You needed a female with you who you trusted: and not only that, she’s a good midwife and can attend you when you bring my little one into the world.’ The love in his eyes was shining out as he explained, a protective hand laying over her stomach. Buffy didn’t know who to hug first, she was crying and laughing all at the same time.

‘But how??’ Buffy couldn’t believe the amount of organising such a visit would have taken.

‘We told Ingimund the news and he got word out on one of the ships that was headed north. Connor received the message in the Western Isles and headed home, organising their trip on a merchantman headed to Dublin for the winter.’

‘All this for me?’ Buffy looked at the people around her in wonder.

William nodded, almost shyly, he loved Buffy so much and knew that she would feel more comfortable with her own women around her at such a time.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered to him, gently kissing his cheek.

‘Now tell me all about what’s been happening,’ she laughed as she took Tara’s arm and led her up the beach to the camp.

The shortening days and chill winds that had signalled the arrival of winter were kept at bay by the laughter and storytelling that happened in the new hall, the stout walls repaying all the work that had been put into making them by keeping out the wind and rain. Buffy was getting huge, and tended to stay on her bench near the fire. Nordlys played on the sheepskins that covered the floor near the centre bench, had her doll in a basket, was chewing on her rattle and was pushing her ball towards her friend Andrew who seemed to delight in the child’s presence. The two of them played for hours with the felt ball that the man had made from the combings from the fleeces the women had been working on.

The great doors had been shut against a miserable evening and the clearing up done. The hall had settled itself down to their evening pursuits. The men and women were spinning the fleece on their drop spindles, while William was entertaining them all by reciting Beowulf. Buffy loved the story of Grendel, his mother and their fight with the eponymous hero. They had just got to the part when Beowulf was approaching the hall for the first time and William spoke of horns being blown… when they could hear those horns for real.

William looked at Buffy and picked up his sword from where it hung near his seat. Loosening it in its scabbard he lit a torch from the fire and ordered the other men to accompany him outside.

The wind and rain made visibility low, but the shouts from the great gate seemed friendly and they called for William by name. He sent one of the men forward to see who was travelling in such awful weather; the gate swung open to reveal a bedraggled sight. To William’s delight Brother Giles and Lady Anne came through the entrance, riding on two horses. The water was streaming off of their cloaks but Lady Anne was smiling broadly as she saw her son waiting for her.

He looked so different from the young boy who had left her side to head to the monastery at Lindisfarne: now he looked every inch the proud Thane, standing with his men around him, guarding what was his.

Brother Giles slid down from his ride and handed the reins over to some thrall who led the beast away, before turning to the lady Anne. Before he could reach up to help her, William had lifted his mother down and was escorting her into the house; he removed his cloak before helping Anne out of hers and handing them both to Sara who was waiting to hang them on a peg by the doorway, where they dripped onto the rushes on the newly laid floor. Giles added his to the pile in the woman’s arms and turned to face his host.
William was giving his mother a kiss on both cheeks before leading her to the left side of his seat. Brother Giles smiled as Buffy tried to stand up by herself before pulling on a proffered arm. She picked up a cup and quickly filled it with ale, which she gave to the cold and wet man before she greeted him with a peck on the cheek turning and greeting her mother-in-law.

‘It is so good to see you, but what are you doing travelling in this dreadful weather?’

Anne smiled at Buffy. She looked amazing, her hair shone and caught every flame in its reflections, making it look like she was surrounded by a halo.

‘We thought you might like a few more familiar faces around you when you’re brought to bed… we knew you have no kin here, and I hoped I might be a good substitute,’ Lady Anne explained as she straightened her wimple.

‘Thank you so much, it will be wonderful to have you close when my time comes.’ Buffy was delighted at their thoughtfulness. ‘But you are wrong about one thing: I do have family here.’ Buffy smiled as she signalled to someone behind her. When she stepped aside to reveal Tara standing behind her the look on the Lady Anne’s face was priceless.

‘Tara! My darling Tara, you look just like your sainted mother,’ Anne said as she held out her arms to her niece. ‘What are you doing here, child, and how??’

‘Connor brought me aboard his ship, same way I got to the north lands,’ she laughed, ‘though I must admit the journey this time was a lot more pleasant.’ Connor smiled down at his wife and put an arm around her waist, holding her tight.

‘Only cause I could do what I really wanted to do last time, only this time I had your permission to have my evil way with you.’ Connor said laughingly, kissing Tara on her cheek as she started to blush. Tara hit him gently on the arm.

‘We’re getting to be a tangled family; legally Connor is your nephew and you grandson,’ she grimaced, ‘this is getting worse! Because Willow and I were with Helga when Nordlys came into the world, William thought it would be a kindness to Buffy to have women she knew well with her when her time came.’

‘Seems we all had the same thought.’ Anne didn’t want to let go of her niece’s hand and sat next to her that evening, sharing all the news of the last few years.

The hall soon settled down into its winter regime. Anne enjoyed her place as the eldest woman in a Norse hall, given the deference due her age and position and Buffy loved having her gentle wisdom to rely on when William got too overbearing and protective.

The warm autumn days shortened into winter: the snows fell, leaving the new hall cut off from the outside world. William spent his days either hunting or carving bone and wood, his other skills little needed with no guests arriving with complaints or problems for him to solve.

Buffy and the other women had prepared a huge amount of clothes for the new arrival: long dresses and swaddling bands. Kuddy had made the most beautiful cradle for the new arrival and Buffy had lined it and the matching doll’s cradle with a newly tanned sheepskin. The soft wool of a yearling lamb made a soft lining for the baby to sleep on, and the soft lambswool blankets and sheets turned wood into something luxurious.

William watched in wonder as Buffy blossomed and grew over the months that followed his mother’s arrival, and even the midwinter fest seemed subdued in expectation of the monumental events that the late winter was to bring.

The snows were melting and the days were getting slightly longer, bringing good cheer to all within the little hall. The winter had been kind to the new hall: the storms were moderate and the snow hadn’t been so deep to prevent them leaving the yard. Even the cows had been able to stay out in the pasture most of the time, leaving the hay for the worst of days when they had all sheltered behind stout walls.


There was still food piled high in the storage sheds, testament to Buffy’s care and attention throughout the summer and autumn. William and Connor had taken the opportunity of the fine days to go hunting and had brought back deer and boar to add to their winter meat. Goose and swan had been tasty treats when they became available, leaving the dried and salted meat for other days and allowing the women to play with Nordlys and gossip to their heart’s content.

The warmth in the late winter sun had tempted Buffy and William out of the hall and away into the woods for a break from their responsibilities, bringing back memories of the time they had spent in the northlands.
Buffy had enjoyed her walk that morning. She and William both woken early, and packing a small basket with food, had escaped the crowded hall for a little time alone. Nordlys had been happy to stay in the company of her Grandmother, playing with the yarns as the Lady Anne wove on the frame set into the wall of the hall itself. Lady Anne was besotted by her grandchild, much the same as Giles was. The little angel could do no wrong in their eyes and Brother Giles was often seen helping Nordlys set out her animals on the sheepskin rug on the floor.

Buffy walked slowly through the woods, holding tight to William’s arm. He swung their basket in the other. She loved this time of year: the promise of the spring around the corner, the leaves on the trees beginning to show the tiniest of buds. It wouldn’t be long before the wild flowers would show their heads and the cycle of life would begin once again. It felt like a good omen for the child she carried. In her heart she hoped it was a boy: William deserved a son, a son he could raise and train to follow in his footsteps. A son who would make them both proud, with his father’s blue, blue eyes that could see into your soul. Her meandering thoughts were interrupted by William stopping and letting go of her arm; he had found the perfect place to stop for their meal. There was a clearing under a linden tree with a branch that lay across the glade, as though the woodland spirit had made it especially for them.

William spread the blanket on the magic tree branch and lifted Buffy up to sit on it. He took advantage of her being trapped by his legs to snatch a kiss from his lady.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered, as he made sure her cloak covered her shoulders. ‘And I love you so much.’ Without saying another word, he jumped up beside her and started unpacking their meal.

‘We’ve done ourselves proud,’ Buffy broke the quiet around them. ‘The hall hasn’t needed much support at all: all the gifts we got for the wedding have seen us through this winter, and now we can make our own luck.’

‘M-hm; you deserve the credit though, it was you that made the man I am pet. Without you I would have been a poor scribe in Lindisfarne, or sold as a slave and ended up who knows where. You built the man, you gave me the strength in my soul to reach for a future where I could be good enough for you.’

‘Oh William, you were always good enough for me. I loved you from the first moment I saw you looking up from the boat, holding Tara so protectively, accepting everything that had happened to you and still looking us in the eye. You were magnificent.’ She leant across and kissed him deeply on the lips.

They sat quietly enjoying the peace and quiet; Buffy snuggled under his protective arm, her head resting on his shoulder. The bread and cheese was eaten with little more conversation, and Buffy passed William a flask of small beer which he gratefully accepted, slaking his thirst before handing it back to his wife.

His wife: it still gave him a thrill to think that Buffy was his wife. He looked down at her: Buffy’s cheeks were glowing and her eyes were closed. This far on in her pregnancy she looked magnificent in his eyes. Large with his child; he loved feeling the baby moving under his hand, and if he held his ear to her full belly he could hear the child’s heart beating away. He found himself thanking God time and time again for the blessings he had received.

He put his hand on her, he couldn’t stop touching her, and felt the muscles tighten under his touch. Buffy seemed to grimace in her sleep; a shadow of pain floated across her face. It was so unlike her that William pulled his hand away, fearful he had hurt her somehow.

Buffy woke up with a gasp and a yelp, clutching her abdomen and tensing all her muscles before forcing herself to relax and breathe through the sudden pain that had enveloped her body. She took a deep calming breath as soon as she was able to and looked towards an obviously scared William.

‘What’s up pet? What is it?’ Poor man: he looked terrified as he had watched her. Buffy tensed again and then got quite pale, before her cheeks flushed with the effort of keeping the yell of pain in.

‘Buffy?’

‘It’s alright William, it’s alright. I’ve been through this before…it’s the baby, it’s time.’

William then copied his wife and went equally white, his hand shaking as his brain tried to take in what she’d said. He eventually managed to process the words and then he moved as if hell itself was on his heels. He grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her down from the branch, desperate to get her back to the shelter of the hall. He was shaking so much Buffy wondered how he managed to stay upright at all. She smiled down at him, trying to reassure the man before he really hurt himself or her. ‘William, you’re hurting me, stop pulling!’

‘Baby…’ he managed to stutter and Buffy raised her arm and pulled it out of Williams tightening grasp.

‘You’re hurting me William and we have to walk back to the hall… you get the blanket,’ was all she managed to get out before William, who had been staring at her slack-mouthed again, moved swiftly to swing her up into his arms and ran with her down the path they had strolled up that morning.

William came through the gates like a creature possessed by a demon. He was running flat out for the hall, little noticing who was in his way, Buffy held close to his chest. He barrelled Andrew and Sara over before kicking the door in and pushing his way past his mother and Helga.

Tara, who had been sitting quietly talking to the Lady Anne, tried not to laugh as the great lord of the hall, thane to Athelred, managed to squeak out ‘baby!’ before carefully placing Buffy on her bed and stumbling backwards towards the fire.

Tara turned to look at Buffy and Buffy didn’t look happy. She obviously had been trying desperately to get William to put her down and allow her to walk, but he’d been deaf to all of her pleas. The lady Anne and Helga pushed the man out of the way, sending him falling over a badly placed basket of fleece and onto his arse. William still couldn’t talk as Buffy was helped back onto her feet.

‘Bed, and baby,’ he managed.

Anne took a deep breath. ‘You go and cut some wood for the fire William, we’ll need a nice warm fire.’ She signalled Connor, ‘would you please look after him and keep him out of our way, because he’s going to be useless here…’

Connor grinned, helped his friend up onto his feet and escorted him outside. He handed William an axe and stood well back out of the way. What a wonderful idea, brilliant, and he attacked the wood pile as though it were Grendel’s mother raiding his home. Thus thought William as he swung the axe, decimating the wood pile.

Tara and Sara made the bed comfortable, laying down the sheepskins that had been prepared to welcome the new arrival, and the hanging was pulled over to give Buffy some privacy.

Buffy refused to take to her bed too early, she knew that she would have to keep active as long as possible to make things easier for herself.
Hildelith took over running the hall while the other women were busy, leaving Andrew to care for all the children; Nordlys was almost asleep anyway.

Connor had brought William a plate of food and some small beer but William couldn’t believe it was evening already. The closing in of the evening early, and the stillness, had confused him. Connor led the befuddled man back into the hall, and sat him near the fire. They talked quietly, not disturbing the women who were working behind the curtain. A curtain that protected their eyes, but not their ears: they could hear every cry and groan Buffy made, William starting at every noise. He felt sick to his stomach: he had fought in battle, but he couldn’t face his wife in so much pain. He started praying, almost begging God to keep Buffy alive. Brother Giles came and sat by the shaking and scared man.

‘I promise never to touch Buffy again if this is what childbirth is about,’ he whispered to the churchman.

‘Why would you do that?’ Connor asked in astonishment. ‘Knowing my mother, that would cause you a lot of grief. Buffy is a vibrant woman and although I’m glad I’m not a woman, this is their battle, their fight. If you reject her after all this she will feel it in her soul.’

‘I’m not rejecting her, its just that I’m not going near her again, causing her all this agony!’ A scream made him go white, his hands becoming bloodless as he gripped his cup harder and harder.

‘This is nothing: it’s her third child William, not her first, she knew what she was letting herself in for. Don’t belittle her fight by making her yearn for you after all this is over? Can you imagine sleeping next to her for the next twenty years without touching her?’

William shook his head, and kept it down. He just wanted this over and Buffy safe.

Nordlys had become distressed at the noise, so Andrew had taken her down the end of the hall away from the bed and was telling her tales of the garden he had been planting. The little girl seemed quite happy with her doll and her friend. The wooden animals she collected were all being cared for, washed and fed, before being ‘taken’ out to the ‘fields’ that had been made with a piece of green fabric. A late evening meal came and went with little ceremony: William had been unable to eat a thing, all he could do was sit and listen to the moans and groans coming from the far end of the hall. They seemed quieter to his ears, as though Buffy was becoming weaker, although they were coming more frequently. Quiet voices could be heard from the other side of the curtain, women’s voices encouraging and caressing Buffy.
Sara put her head out and asked for some more cold water, in a far too cheerful voice for William’s comfort but he did as he was bid, bringing the bucket and passing it through to his mother.

‘Is she going to die?’ he asked as another groan cut through the over-quiet hall.

‘There’s no reason to think that, my child, she’s doing very well, and with God’s blessing she will come through this birthing; she’s strong and healthy, and Tara is skilled… just leave us to our work, and why would you think there was something wrong?’

‘All the yelling and screaming, she sounds like she’s in agony.’

‘Well she’s not, she’s just working very hard. Now you go back to your ale and your friends and leave this to us.’

It was heading towards late night when Helga had come free of the curtain. William stood up but she shook her head and called Connor to her side.
‘She wants an offering to be given to Frigga and Eir while she labours: she doesn’t want to ask William, she fears that Brother Giles would object.’ Helga spoke quietly; although it had never been mentioned, she knew that William followed the White Christ and would have problems making the sacrifice Buffy felt was needed and her soul craved.

Connor nodded and headed towards the door, taking a barrel of mead with him to offer to the Goddesses. There would be no blood spilled for the two ladies of healing and life. The churchman had been praying in the corner of the hall since Buffy’ first cries had rent the air; he turned his head from the figure leaving the hall and he ensured that he didn’t see what was going on. He knew how strong Buffy’s own faith was, and he would do nothing to upset her while she laboured. He would keep his preaching for a better time when a woman in labour needed her faith to keep her safe.

No sooner had Connor left the room when the air was filled with the welcome cry of a new born child. William felt the tears trickling down his face but did nothing to stop them. He looked anxiously at the curtain, waiting for one of the women to pull it back, and allow the hall to meet its newest member, but nothing happened. He could hear Buffy shouting again, and he could hear someone singing softly to the child. Connor came back into the hall and took his place beside William.
‘I know what you’re going through. I hated it when Willow and Tara were in the straw, but all we can do is wait.’ He poured more ale into William’s cup and signalled one of the serving maids to bring more food. Maybe they could get the Thane to eat at some point.

William nodded, then looked at his friend. The man his wife loved like a son. He could smell honey wine strongly and Connor looked damp, as though he’d been out in the rain that now fell outside. ‘Wha’?’ he pointed at the damp stains covering the other man’s tunic.

‘I gave an offering to Frigga and to Eir, to protect Buffy, and in her name. She didn’t want to put you in an awkward position with brother Giles by asking you to do it.’

William felt his heart overfill again; with all that was going on she still protected his position in the hall and with his people.

It seemed forever that the quiet words of encouragement kept coming from the sectioned off part of the hall. Suddenly there was another shout of triumph from Buffy and Tara, and a second cry came from behind the curtain.

‘Two babies: twins!’ yelled Connor as he clapped William on the back.

‘Twins… two?’ William echoed back to his friend.

‘Twins,’ Connor confirmed. The delight was evident on both their faces, echoed only by the relief that Buffy seemed well so far.

The curtain was drawn back before the mead jug had made its way round the whole hall. It was Lady Anne who pulled the curtain aside and smiled at the silly grin plastered on his face. She was tired and a little dirty and very sweaty, even though Buffy had been doing most of the work. And relieved that nothing disastrous had gone wrong during the day.

‘William, would you like to meet your sons?’ she asked in a quiet voice, startling the man out of his reverie. He made his way across the hall, barely noticing where he trod. His eyes locked on the bundles in his wife’s arms.

Buffy looked tired but radiant; she looked up at William and started to speak.

‘I have born two children William, both sons, and I claim them as yours: do you accept the claim?’ she spoke the traditional claim, a small part of her heart upset that the Lady Anne had already told William the sex of his children; that should have been her job.

‘My sons,’ the joy was obvious in his voice. ‘I accept your claim, Elizabeth of Trondheim: these are my sons.’

He signalled to Andrew to bring his daughter across. ‘Come and meet your brothers, poppet.’

Nordlys looked down at the babies and smiled at her momma. She just wanted to go to bed, and hugged her dolly closer. She snuggled down on Andrew’s shoulder and smiled slowly, closing her eyes.

The lady Anne looked at her son and daughter-in-law with their little family. Nothing could have made her happier, but she’d have to apologise to Buffy in the morning for telling William that he had sons. Her excitement had gotten the better of her; however, she should have known better.

Buffy was worn out from her labours, but she managed to stay awake long enough to feed her new babies and eat a little of the soup that had been prepared especially for her, filled with good chicken and vegetables. All she wanted to do was sleep. William kissed her gently and went to make his bed on the benches with the other men, but Buffy had other ideas.

‘Stay: just hold me, please?’ she asked, her eyes giving him a pleading look. She didn’t want him to abandon her to an empty, lonely bed on this night. It was too strong a reminder of the night she had brought Nordlys into the world.

William lay gently at his wife’s side, Nordlys curled into his free arm, and the two new arrivals snuggled into their mother. As sleep claimed him he didn’t think it was possible to be happier in this world.

Buffy stretched her back and rested on her heels for a moment before she packed yet another shirt into the chest along with the other precious things she was taking with her. It was a long job, sorting through the belongings she had collected over the last four years with William, but well worth doing. They had been good years to the couple: Thorbjorn and Athelred, their two sons, had grown strong and healthy, and a daughter had come to bless them just last year. William had named her Helga after Buffy’s dear friend who had died before she ever saw the child that carried her name. That had been the bad, the fever that had taken Helga from them. Olaf had mourned his wife, and had found it hard to leave her in the ground so far away from home - but there had been little choice, he couldn’t take her back, so they raised a mound and had buried her with full honours and plenty of supplies. Giles had gone to Chester, taking a lot of the Saxons with him when the funeral had taken place, but Anne had stayed, stayed to support her daughter and son as they buried a much loved friend. She had even helped Buffy prepare the food that had been buried with the woman to last the journey to Niflheim.

As each precious item found its way into the sea chest at her feet Buffy held it for a short time, allowing the memories to wash over her. The naalbinded cap Helga had made her to keep her long hair out of the stew as she was given cooking lessons still held the faint smell of spice and smoke. Buffy inhaled deeply, taking the fragrance into her body, picturing the day she had finally produced a meal fit to be eaten. She had been so pleased with herself that day, and the memories the cap brought meant that its place in the chest was guaranteed. Buffy felt her knees lock and her legs going to sleep; time to move and get a drink before she turned into a lump of rock, unable to move at all.

She looked around the hall. The great doors had been opened to let the sunshine into the hall; dust motes danced in the beams as they made their way into the dimness at the back of the building. The sun set Nordlys’ hair alight, the blonde locks looking almost too pale to be real. Nordlys was in the children’s sleeping area sorting through the toys that they would take with them. Thorbjorn’s carved wooden bear with the missing leg had been packed into the cradle she used for her doll, along with Athelred’s wooden ship. The boys practise weapons were already packed; the rag doll the little girl loved so much was being wrapped into its miniature fur cloak and placed on top. The whole bundle would be securely wrapped in oiled skins to keep it safe on the journey home. Andrew stood nearby helping his tiny mistress look for her leather ball that had rolled under the benches. Little Helga slept quietly on the bed her parents normally shared.

Nordlys understood what was happening, mother and father had told her in just two days all their stuff would be loaded into a huge broad cargo ship that had arrived with Olaf at the helm, and the whole family would set sail for the Northlands and Mother’s estates there. Nordlys was very excited about it. She knew that’s where she’d been born and she knew there was family waiting for her. Tara, Willow and her brother Connor, who spoiled her rotten every time he saw her, big brothers were so much better than baby ones she thought as she watched the twins fighting over a felt horse.

Buffy lifted up her jewellery box and put it in the corner of the sea chest. The solid oak box would protect the lapis and silver from the worst of the elements as they were headed home. She had already made a pile of the waterproof, fleece lined goatskin sleeping bags for her and the children. There was an extra thick one for Anne whose older bones were beginning to feel the cold.

Buffy looked towards her mother-in-law: the woman was talking quietly to Godwin and his lady who would be taking over the hall in William and Buffy’s place. Godwin had been out with William checking all the local farms, spending the day in the saddle before taking over, and his lady had been looking over her new domain. She seemed very young to Buffy, but well trained, and Buffy had made sure that the hall had a good start; all she would have to do was continue the good work.

Buffy brought lady Anne a drink of hot peppermint tea. ‘It will be all right you know,’ Buffy told her.

Anne smiled bravely at her daughter. ‘Well if Nordlys can make the journey at less than a year old, I’m quite sure I can as I haven’t passed my fiftieth year yet.’

It was only a month since Anne had been sitting in the bright sunshine with her embroidery. The market was over for the spring and the visiting Norse would soon be headed home, and she had been taking advantage of the warmth and quiet. ‘My lady?’ Buffy’s soft voice broke her concentration.

Anne smiled back. ‘Just thinking about Olaf and his offer, but what can I do for you today?’ Anne was very glad the sweet girl spoke her own Saxon language: it meant they could talk without anyone having to help her understand.

‘I was wondering if I may speak to you about something?’ Buffy twisted the skirt of her dress in her hands, she was scared and it showed. It wasn’t like Buffy to be timid and Anne wondered if there was something wrong. ‘Is it about you and William?’ Anne tried to guess what would bring Buffy in search of the older woman.

‘Well yes, no, yes. Oh I’m sorry, I’m babbling, I do that when I’m nervous.’

‘There is no need to be nervous child, I don’t bite!’ Anne laughed.

‘No, that’s your son.’ Buffy then blushed bright red, realising who she had told something of their sex life to.

‘Well as long as he makes you happy,’ she laughed at her daughter-in-law’s discomfort.

‘That he does, it’s like a miracle to me, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We are due to leave soon, winds and tides permitting and I was wondering, oh this is so difficult, our ways are so different and I don’t want to cause offence but fear I might do so…’

‘Well how about you just say what you want to tell me and I promise to take it the offence-free way?’

‘We want you to come with us, William and I , we want you to come home with us,’ Buffy said with a smile. ‘I haven’t spoken to William about this but I know he would be happy, at least I think he will be. Would you consider coming with us to William’s hall? We would care for you I promise, and you would be the eldest in the Hall with all the respect that position holds. But I don’t like to think of you here without family to care for you and for you to care for. We don’t know when William would ever return, if he would return, and it’s so obvious that you care for Nordlys and the others, and did I say we will care for you properly?’

‘You’re babbling again my dear.’ Anne’s smile was very much like her son’s, and the reassurance she radiated allowed Buffy to relax a little.

‘Sorry.’ Buffy apologised and took a deep breath and tried to settle her nerves.

‘Do you mean it? For me to leave Mercia and come with you? Are you sure this is what you want?’ Anne watched her daughter carefully as she asked the questions; Buffy’s eyes were always so expressive that any deceit would show easily.

‘Oh yes, William loves you so much, I know he dreads leaving you in your loneliness and my - our - hall is prosperous.’

‘I can bring nothing with me; I have no money to help fill your coffers…’

‘You bring your skill at the loom and the lyre. These are not skills that are worthless. You would have many hands anxious and willing to learn your skills if you would be willing to teach.’

‘Let me see what William says - but yes, I would love to come with you.’

The two women settled back to enjoy the quiet and the warmth of the sunshine.

‘Are you going to marry Olaf ?’ Buffy asked. ‘He has approached William two or three times to ask permission to court you, and is willing to pay a good price to free you from your promises to Athelflaed.’

‘There’s no fee to pay, I have never sold myself,’ Anne answered her quietly, ‘but I must admit I am a little worried about the future.’

‘In what way?’ Buffy pulled up a stool and sat by her. ‘He’s a good man, a strong man, he would care for you and you would want for nothing…’

‘I know, but his ways are so different from mine.’ Anne said very quietly.

‘William and I have built a new way, a middle path: it hasn’t always been easy, but we’ve managed, so has Tara, believe me she’s not bullied by her ‘viking’ husband, he lives under both his wives’ tongues! And it isn’t as though you wouldn’t have family near by, in fact you would have more there than you do here… please think about it, I know you love being near the babies and there are even more waiting for you in the north.’

Anne smiled at Buffy, laughing quietly to herself at the way Buffy tried to manage all those around her.

Just a few weeks later found the Lady Anne packing her belongings into a sea chest awaiting the arrival of the ship that would carry her so far north. Athelflaed and Athelred had given her wonderful parting gifts of jewellery and beads, and even a glass goblet, which had been carefully wrapped and was put into the bottom of the chest. It seemed very little for a lifetime of work, but Anne was content.

The biggest surprise had been Brother Giles. William had invited him to come with them as well…and Buffy hadn’t been sure about that at all.
It seemed a betrayal of her faith somehow, but he was her husband and she had to respect his wishes, and she knew he had missed having a priest, Gothi, what ever they were called, around him when he had stayed last time.
And Giles wasn’t so bad, at least he wasn’t threatening to kill the children if their parents believed in the old ways.

William sat at his bench, his own sea chest under his bum and his sword and chain mail carefully wrapped in the oiled skins were placed carefully by its side. It was a familiar place, and one that actually brought back bittersweet memories both of his journey north and the journey back to his own people, and it was the one returning him south that hurt the most, the heartache at leaving Buffy behind; if he’d known then about Nordlys he would never have gone, but if he hadn’t he would never have earned a position that made him Buffy’s if not equal at least partly worthy of being her consort.

‘Stroke!’ roared Olaf as the boat was taken by the tide. ‘Pull!’ the word was repeated. William smiled to himself, at least he knew what the words meant this time.

His mother sat quietly out of the way with Thorbjorn on her lap; Athelred sat quietly on his mother’s lap. Nordlys was curled up by Giles as the monk showed her how to play cats-cradle with a piece of braid. William’s heart soared at the sound of his daughter’s laughter. And little Helga was asleep in Andrew’s grasp.

‘Pull!’ reminded him what he was supposed to be doing, and he heaved on the oar in front of him.

It hadn’t escaped Lady Anne’s notice that Buffy had placed herself so that she could watch the muscles on William’s back as he worked with the rest of the crew to get the boat into deep water. Anne was watching Olaf with the same eyes, a soft smile on her face. He held the great steerboard steady, guiding the wide ship into the waters that would take her to her new home. As soon as they had left the shelter of the estuary the sail had been raised, and as it bellied in the wind the ship leapt forward, taking the saxon lands away from them.

Giles watched carefully. Olaf had been very attentive of the Lady Anne, lifting her into the ship himself, something that raised a great deal of amusement amongst the Norse, and something had been said quickly that William had missed, but Buffy had laughed and then blushed. Lady Anne knew that the joke had been against her, but held her tongue until the ship was safely underway. As the sail took over and the oars were brought aboard, the whole crew seemed to relax, taking their places along the side, unrolling the sleeping bags that had fascinated her, rolling themselves in their cloaks, or putting a fishing line over the side. Anne made her way slowly to Buffy’s side and asked quietly, ‘What was said when I came aboard? Was it something I should be worried about?’

‘Only if you intend to refuse Olaf: the men commented on him not letting anyone else touch you even to help you. A man carries his own pack, is the literal translation, but it was meant as a compliment: its what they said when William helped me and Connor first saw Tara. Don’t worry: it’s a norse thing.’ Anne nodded and accepted what she’d been told; Olaf had merely told everyone else that she was out of bounds.

Olaf stood tall and proud leaning into the steerboard, keeping the great ship on course. He watched the clouds and the coast, guiding the ship along the coast, looking for a peaceful, secluded beach to camp for the night. Nordlys and the twins had soon got used to their new surroundings; Thorbjorn had taken to trying to help with the sails or the fishing, everything that the men were doing. Athelred on the other hand watched carefully, assessing everything before he acted; he spoke more softly than his brother, who always seemed to be shouting down the wind, and yet they were identical in looks, not so much as a hair different. The one thing that both boys agreed on was that sisters were special; as young as they were they were highly protective of their big sister, only they were allowed to tease her. Andrew had set out their toys in a quiet space at the prow: he was terrified, the sea was huge and he was aboard a Norse ship, heading North. He pulled the sheepskin around his shoulders and tried to make himself as small as possible. Nordlys played in and out of the ribs of the ship, cuddling up to her parents to sleep. And little Helga was happy as long as she was fed, dry and warm, too young to know what was happening around her.

Olaf watched Anne constantly. His eyes were always on William’s mother. Giles had been a little anxious at first but William had reassured him that the man wasn’t offering insult to Anne, but was seriously perusing her with thoughts of marriage. Giles learned to accept it, that this tall, frightening warrior was going to be his Lady Anne’s new husband. He had been surprised when William had told him just how rich the boat master was, and from the way he cared for Anne it was obvious she would have an easier life with him than she ever had with William’s father.

The journey was a lot happier for William than his original one had been; his wife slept with his children in the tent that was set up every night. William shared the fire with the other menfolk, telling stories and singing songs, until sleep took them; memories of the fear he’d felt when he had made this journey with Tara had fed the nightmares for a couple of nights. He’d half woken to find Buffy curled up into his side; leaving the tent for Anne and the children, she had felt his distress and made her way to him, bundled in her own fur lined cloak.

‘Bad memories my love?’ she’d whispered, and he’d nodded, trying to block out the memory of Harmony and Tara being so scared.

‘Just remember, if it hadn’t been for that time we would never have met, and those four souls in the tent with your mother would never have been born.’

William buried his nose in her hair, she was right and he knew it, they had come through trials that would have killed others and had survived, and now they had a lifetime together, God willing.

The nights were short and getting shorter: they had chosen the longest days and the shortest nights for their journey north, and it was proving a good decision. The weather was kind and the winds fair, taking them swiftly north to the Nordreyjar, where they stayed for a few days as the summer storms passed them by. There were monks there as well and Brother Giles spent two days in prayer with them, finding the peace within his soul again. He admired the respect that the Norse showed the monks and priests who lived among them, it was very different from what he had been led to expect. Maybe his life wouldn’t be so hard after all.

A clear break in the weather, with the winds headed east, was a good omen to start their journey again. The ship life soon resumed, the children enjoying the attention the adults gave them during the voyage.

The false dusk of the summerdin held sway over the undarkening sky as Olaf headed the ship into the harbour. William stood with one arm around Buffy’s shoulder and his other around his mother’s. The horns had sounded from boat to shore and back again, sending chills down Giles’ back. Anne shuddered as well; as she saw the people lined up on the wooden jetty, it was all strange and new, and very, very different from anything she had ever seen before. William scanned he faces looking for those he knew, the memories strong of his last arrival at this same place.

‘Thinking about last time?’ Buffy asked, knowing how difficult it must be for her husband.

William smiled. ‘Oh yes: last time I had my arm around my cousin, terrified about the future, and I saw this amazing pair of dancing green eyes. This time I have my arm around the owner of those green eyes, and am looking for my cousin who stands somewhere in that crowd with her husband and children. My life has been astounding and I have the rest of it to spend with you.’ He kissed Buffy deeply, ignoring all the cat calls coming from the rest of the crew, Buffy melting into his arms, immune to anything happening around her. It wasn’t until Anne tapped her on the shoulder that she blushed and looked up into the eyes of her family.

William smiled at his mother as he watched Olaf grab Anne around the waist and lift her onto the wooden dock, again showing everyone that this woman was his and repeating his claim. Anne was soon lost in the hugs from Connor and Tara, Willow hanging back a little, surrounded by their children. Buffy signalled Andrew to get out and give a hand to the children. Nordlys stayed close by her friend until she saw Connor, then she broke lose and ran to her brother’s arms, competing with her grandmother for his attentions.

William helped bring the boys onto the jetty, before helping Buffy out as well. Surrounded by family and friends they made their way through the laughing, happy throng, back to the hall where it had all began.