‘I thought I might find you here.’
Elgiva laid aside her sewing and rose from her stool. ‘Was there something you needed, my lord?’
‘Will you bear me company awhile?’ He glanced at her companion. ‘I’m sure Osgifu can spare you.’
The servant inclined her head and hid a smile. Elgiva, knowing her well, was not deceived, though she could not see the occasion for this hidden amusement. She had no chance to dwell on it, though, with Wulfrum so close by. He offered her his good arm and, rather diffidently, she took it.
For a little while they walked in silence. Elgiva glanced up at him, wondering why he had sought her out. They seemed to be heading for the stables.
‘I thought you might like to check on Mara,’ he said.
Elgiva looked up in surprise. Any opportunity to visit her horse was welcome. How had he known? He did not enlighten her on the point, but stood aside to let her enter the building. Then together they made their way along the stalls until they came to Mara’s. The horse turned her head and whinnied as Elgiva approached.
‘Here. She might appreciate this.’ Wulfrum produced a withered apple from inside his tunic. ‘It is from last year’s store, but I don’t suppose she’ll mind too much.’
He was right. The mare crunched the fruit with obvious enjoyment. As she stroked the glossy neck, Elgiva regarded her husband out of the corner of her eye. This was the hidden side of him once more, the one she had glimpsed when he was with Ulric. He liked children and he liked horses too. Glancing across the stable, she could see his stallion tethered nearby. At seventeen hands, the powerful horse took some riding, but with Wulfrum’s hand on the rein the black was meek enough. She wondered at their partnership, for it was clear he had trained the animal himself.
‘How long have you had Firedrake?’
‘Two years.’ He grinned. ‘He was a handful at first, wild and mighty contrary.’ He glanced down at Elgiva, thinking that, in some ways, the two were perhaps not so very different except, of course, that the stallion now obeyed his every command.
‘He’s a beautiful animal,’ she acknowledged.
‘So is the mare. Your father chose well.’
For a moment Elgiva remained silent, her eyes on the horse, stroking the velvety muzzle. Recalling the last time they had been in the stables and had spoken thus, Wulfrum could only wince. He seemed to recall his words then had been more than a little tactless.
‘Do you still intend to breed her?’ she asked at length.
‘Not without your consent. After all, she is your horse.’
Her surprise was evident, for he saw warm colour rise in her cheeks, but the look in her eyes said more. It was a moment or two before she could speak.
‘Thank you, Wulfrum. She means a great deal to me.’
‘I know.’
Elgiva’s heart was suddenly beating much faster, but her pleasure at his words was great. More, he had shown a true regard for her feelings. She laid a hand on his sleeve.
‘Mara means a great deal, but it means even more to me to hear you say that.’
Wulfrum knew a deep inner glow, but, not knowing quite what to say, he smiled and remained silent.
Having left the horses, they walked a while and came to the orchard. It was a fine day and enjoyable to stroll in the dappled shade beneath the trees. For some time they did not speak, being content to share the quiet and the moment. Presently Wulfrum stopped and spread his cloak on the grass.
‘Sit and rest a while, Elgiva. It is most pleasant out here.’
She sat down to join him, very aware of his nearness, of the lithe strength of the man. Her eyes drank in the powerful line of his jaw, the blades of his cheekbones, the sensual curve of his mouth, remembering its pressure against her own. Shocked by the direction of her thoughts, Elgiva looked away.
If he was aware of her confusion, he gave no sign. Indeed, Wulfrum’s thoughts were on the scene around him, on the land, his land. Here in this rich earth was wealth indeed, a place where a man could set down roots and belong. He thought back to the country of his birth, of the farm where he had been a boy. Back then it had seemed very fine, but he had had nothing like this to compare it with. It seemed to him that in England a man could put a stick in the ground and it would grow and thrive. Back there the land yielded a living far more grudgingly. He thought of it as back there rather than home. This was his home now, the place he intended to stay, and the place where his sons would be raised—one day. He glanced at Elgiva. It was a strange fate that had brought him to this place, to her. The two were inextricably bound up. In some ways she was this place for him and always would be.
Unable to follow his thought, she surveyed him closely. ‘Is there something on your mind, Wulfrum?’
‘I was thinking of the strangeness of destiny and how it brought me here.’
Elgiva remembered the evening in the bower when she had asked Osgifu to cast the runes. It was but a few months since, but already it seemed a long time ago. In her mind she heard the voice saying, The runes never lie.
Wulfrum stretched out beside her, hands behind his head, looking up through the leafy branches to the sky beyond. Watching him, Elgiva felt the truth of his words: it was a strange destiny that brought him here, a destiny with its beginnings in an ancient feud. So many lives, yet all were strangely linked. Osgifu had long ago told her of the Nornir, the three old women who spun the threads of fate. It had seemed then like just another fabulous tale. Now she wasn’t so sure. Wulfrum had told her something of his past. It was as if a corner of that mysterious web had been lifted, allowing her a tantalising glimpse of the man she had married. He had learned early to conceal his thoughts, to use his head and not his heart. Though he had not said so, she knew his life must have been hard, but he had survived and become strong, a man whom other men would follow. They trusted him, respected him, and obeyed him. It made her want to know more.
‘Was it in Lord Ragnar’s hall that you met Olaf Ironfist?’
‘Aye. He and I go back a long way. He saved my life.’
‘Tell me.’
There was a note in her voice he had not heard before, curiosity and something else that was harder to define. Withal there was an earnestness in those amber eyes that would not be resisted.
‘We were hunting wolves and had a beast at bay. It was a fearsome creature, weighing full as much as a man, and savage with hunger. I came upon it first and, being young and foolish, thought to take it on armed merely with a belt knife.’
Elgiva laughed out loud. ‘Never! What happened?’
‘The beast attacked and I gashed it with the knife, which only made it madder. It went for my throat. I managed to hold it off for a little while, but my strength was waning and I knew I was going to die. Fortunately for me, Olaf appeared and grappled with the creature. He throttled it with his bare hands.’
‘How old were you then?’
‘Three and ten.’
‘It is surprising you lived to manhood.’
‘But for Olaf I might not have. He was five and twenty back then, and already well known for his feats of strength. I have seen him kill a bull with his bare hands. I can see him now, standing over the body of the dead wolf; how he laughed when he saw that belt knife. Then Ragnar arrived on the scene and of course he had to be let in on the joke. I swear, I thought the two of them would die laughing.’ Wulfrum smiled, remembering it. ‘It took me a while to live that one down.’
‘And you and Olaf became friends.’
‘Yes. He mistook my stupidity for courage, you see. But, like Ragnar, he taught me much, and we have stood together in the shield wall many times. He is a brave warrior and a good friend. There is no man I’d rather have at my back in a fight.’
‘I believe it. Truly Olaf Ironfist is well named.’
‘Indeed he is.’
They lapsed into companionable silence, Elgiva pondering the things he had told her and keen to hear more. Even so, she would not press him. Confidence could not be forced. If he wanted to tell her about the past, he would do it in his own time. Once, not so long ago, such a conversation would have been unthinkable. She could never have envisaged then that she would discover so much—or that she would wish to.
For a long time they stayed together beneath the tree, soaking up the afternoon warmth, neither one in any hurry to move, both knowing that something important had changed and fearing to do anything that might break the fragile balance that had been established. The sun was setting before they eventually started back to the hall.
Preparations for the evening meal were well underway and the hall already lively with talk and laughter when they entered. Many eyes turned in their direction and several knowing smiles appeared on the faces of the observers. Elgiva knew what they were thinking: two lovers returning from a cosy tryst. It wasn’t altogether wide of the mark either. Somewhat embarrassed, she glanced up at her husband. However, he seemed not in the least discomposed and paused to exchange greetings with some of his men. She would have slipped away but his hand on her arm forbade it.
‘Stay, Elgiva.’
‘Whatever you say, Wulfrum.’ The tone was demure enough, but he was undeceived. She saw him laugh.
‘I’d like to think so, but I’m not so naïve.’