The Viking's Defiant Bride(39)

‘How are they getting through our defences?’ demanded Wulfrum when the news was brought to him. ‘This place is so tightly guarded now that even a mouse would find difficulty in stealing anything.’

‘Maybe they aren’t,’ said Ironfist.

‘You think someone in Ravenswood is giving them aid?’

‘It is a possibility.’

‘As you say. It is strange how the raiders know the exact moment and place to strike.’ Wulfrum’s expression grew hard. ‘If you are right and there is a traitor in our midst, we shall discover him soon enough and he will rue the day.’

Elgiva heard the words with misgivings, her mind running through the names of all the people she knew, but she could not think that one of them had been responsible. And yet she had to acknowledge that there were many who only tolerated the new order because they had to. After all, someone had helped Aylwin to escape in the first place. Would they join in secret confederacy with the outlaws to strike back at the Danes? She realised that she did not know the answer. The woodland was large and there were many hiding places in its heart, places hard to find unless you knew them. There were caves too, some big enough to shelter a considerable number of men. However, it was all surmise on her part. She had no real proof.



Meanwhile the summer days grew sultry with a sticky heat that made every exertion uncomfortable. Elgiva thought longingly of the forest pool, but she would not disobey Wulfrum and venture out there. The brooding air foretold a coming storm, although some rain would be welcome now for the land lay listless beneath a metallic sky. Elgiva laid aside her sewing and rose from her stool, unable to bear the confinement within doors. Her head ached and her clothes stuck to her and every movement seemed to bring beads of perspiration to her face. She walked towards the orchard, thinking to find some respite from the heat. Indeed, it was a little cooler there and she sank gratefully on the grass beneath the leafy canopy. All around the ripening fruit was swelling on the branches, sure sign that the coming harvest would be plentiful. Soon the corn harvest would begin and the barns and granaries would fill. The first hay crop was already gathered in. In a few more weeks the first leaves would begin to change colour. The year turned and all their lives with it. Who could have foreseen in the previous winter what would befall them in the spring? Already it seemed like a past life.



At the evening meal Elgiva found herself watching Wulfrum, listening as he spoke and laughed with his men. He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his hand toying with his ale horn. From time to time he glanced her way and smiled and her heart would leap. She knew that later they would retire to their chamber and he would make love to her once more and she would yield. You’ll come. He had said that long ago. Had his knowledge of other women fuelled his confidence? She knew there had been others; his skill as a lover could only have been born of practice. What had they been like, his other women, the ones before her? Had he loved any of them? Was there one he remembered with more fondness than the others? He never spoke of them. Did it mean he had forgotten? Elgiva forced the thoughts to the back of her mind, angry with herself for even entertaining them. What did it matter? It was in the past. She was his wife now, a relationship made real every night they retired to bed.

On this evening Elgiva excused herself early from the table and went before him to their chamber. She undressed to the thin kirtle and went to stand by the window to find relief from the heat. A breeze had sprung up and in the west the clouds had begun to mass like the vanguard of a great celestial host labouring up. Distant flashes of lightning preceded its arrival and the air was pungent with promised rain. Elgiva leaned back against the wooden frame, watching the storm approach, feeling the wind lift strands of hair from her neck as it cooled her skin. She had not bothered to light a lamp, for although it grew late some light yet lingered in the sky.

She stood for some time, watching the display in the heavens, fascinated by its power. The storm rolled nearer. Soon it would be overhead, for the thunderclaps followed each other in quick succession. A brilliant flash of light illuminated the whole area around the hall and with it a dark figure running towards the stables. Elgiva frowned, staring into the twilight shadows. Perhaps it had been one of Wulfrum’s men hastening to take shelter before the rain came. The man paused and looked round. The next lightning flash lit him plainly for a split second. Drem! Elgiva started. It couldn’t have been. He had no business there, wasn’t even a groom. Another flash of lightning lit the scene, but this time she saw no one. Even so an uneasy feeling prickled between her shoulder blades like an itch she couldn’t reach. She remained by the window a few moments more, her eyes scanning the area, but she could see no sign of the man again. It wouldn’t have been Drem, only someone who looked a bit like him. After all, she had only seen him for an instant. Most likely it had been one of the guards seeking temporary shelter, for in truth the storm would be fearsome when it really hit them.

She closed her eyes, suddenly aware that her earlier headache had gone as if somehow the release of tension in the skies had found its parallel in her. Just then the breeze brought with it a whiff of smoke and she heard a horse neigh. Elgiva opened her eyes, scanning the ground in her view. Her gaze was arrested by flickering light in the thatch of the stable roof. For a moment she froze before her mind grasped the significance. Suspicion became certainty. Grabbing her mantle from the top of the clothes chest, she threw it about her shoulders and ran from the room, heading for the hall. At the head of the stairs she paused.

‘Fire! The stable is on fire! Make haste!’

All conversation stopped and fifty pairs of eyes looked up in astonishment to see the apparition on the staircase, a wild-eyed figure with golden hair tumbling across her shoulders and clad loosely in a cloak that revealed only a kirtle beneath. For perhaps the space of a few seconds they stared before the import of her words began to sink in. Elgiva had by then reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to Wulfrum.

‘My lord, quickly! The stable is ablaze!’

Wulfrum leapt to his feet, but she was ahead of him, making for the door. Behind her she could hear shouting and running feet as men sprang into action. Elgiva raced for the stable, ignoring everything save the need to get Mara and the other horses out. She could hear restless hooves and whinnying now and the smell of smoke was stronger. In the darkness beyond the door flickering flames lit the far end where a pile of hay was already ablaze beneath the burning roof. Elgiva darted forwards, feeling smoke sting her eyes, coughing on the thick fumes. Mara’s stall was towards the far end and already the little mare was snorting and rolling her eyes in fear. Elgiva went to the horse’s head and unfastened the halter rope, speaking gently to try to calm the frightened animal. However, when she tried to back the horse out, it refused to budge. All around the smoke thickened and the sinister crackling of the flames grew louder. Fragments of burning thatch fell about them and she heard Firedrake scream with terror, his hooves drumming on the side of the stall as he fought the rope that held him. Then other horses took up his cry, their panic spreading. Shouting voices sounded from the entrance way and flaring torches showed men freeing the animals nearest the door. In desperation Elgiva pulled on Mara’s halter rope, but still the horse wouldn’t stir.

‘Elgiva, give me your cloak.’

She heard Wulfrum’s voice beside her. She tore off the cloak and watched him use it to cover the horse’s eyes. Then, speaking softly, he coaxed the mare out of the stall and led her to the door with Elgiva stumbling after. Outside a line of men had formed a chain from the well to pass buckets of water in an attempt to douse the fire while the others tried to get the remaining animals out. Fortunately most of the horses had been turned out, the nights being fine and warm.

‘Get the mare away from here.’ Wulfrum removed the cloak from Mara’s eyes and shoved the halter rope at a serf. Then he soaked the cloak in the trough before turning to Elgiva. ‘Wait here.’

She saw him throw the wet cloak over his head before plunging back into the chaos of the stable. Elgiva watched through stinging eyes the smoke swirl through the thatch on the roof. The fire was louder now, the flames brighter. Smoke billowed from the open doorway as from the gateway to hell, while above them the storm rumbled on. Tight-throated with fear, she looked in horror as the moments passed and Wulfrum did not return. Visualising the stallion’s panic and his flying hooves, Elgiva’s heart pounded. What if Wulfrum were hurt and couldn’t get out? What if he were overcome by smoke? He would die in there, a horrible lingering death. It couldn’t happen. It must not happen. She began to run back towards the stable, but a strong arm caught and held her. She heard Ida’s voice.

‘You cannot go back in there, lady. It’s too late now.’

‘Wulfrum’s in there. Let me go.’

Elgiva struggled hard, but the arm did not yield. Tears coursed down her face as she watched the thick smoke and the leaping flames. Surely nothing could live in there now. In her mind’s eye she saw Wulfrum overcome by smoke, lying helpless on the floor as the blaze licked closer. Desperate now, she fought to free herself.