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Had Halfdan actually remembered about Brand’s plans for the future? How he hoped to marry Sigfrieda? Brand narrowed his eyes. Or was there something else? Something that Halfdan knew about this woman that he had chosen to keep to himself?
Lady Edith picked up a spindle, looking for all the world like a woman who had plenty of time and fewer cares. However, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead betrayed her nerves. Brand smiled inwardly. Her play-acting skills were no rival for the courtiers at the Byzantium court.
‘Shall we speak about the changes to Eoferwic...I mean Jorvik?’ She gave her spindle a fierce twist. ‘I understand King Halfdan has completely remade the city after the Norsemen burnt it to the ground.’
‘There we must agree to differ. It was the Northumbrians who burnt the city when they attempted to take it. I was there on the walls, my lady.’
Her eyes flashed, betraying her annoyance. ‘It was our city. The Norsemen attacked on All Saints’ Day when we were at church. I was there with my mother and father. No civilised person attacks on such a holy day.’
‘Your god is not Halfdan’s. Do you respect Thor’s feast days?’
‘That is beside the point.’ She gave the spindle a vicious twist and the thread broke, sending it bouncing across the floor. A small cry escaped her lips.
Brand bent and retrieved it, holding the neatly spun wool in his hand. It was unusual for any woman to speak so boldly to him, but Lady Edith was refreshing. All too often women uttered inanities and deferred to him. Spineless, but calculating. He learnt that lesson well in Constantinople. Lady Edith had already revealed the steel she had as a spine. She was forged from the same metal as his father’s wife and he should never forget that.
Lady Edith needed to learn that she no longer held any power in this hall. Her intelligence about the halls and its lands being more prosperous than it appeared failed to surprise him. He had seen the richness of the soil and suspected that the sheep grew thick fleeces. The very air breathed fertility.
For how much was this woman responsible? And how much did she want to unjustly claim?
Brand had met many capable women in Byzantium who were involved up to their pretty necks in palace intrigue, but he had never heard of a Northumbrian woman doing such a thing. Their priests frowned on it or so he understood. It was a mystery and he disliked mysteries, particularly ones which included beautiful women. Invariably they attempted to use their looks to gain what they wanted. Given the way the spindle bounced and the thread tangled, he doubted if Lady Edith spent much time spinning.
‘I wish to learn everything about my new estate,’ he said with a bow. ‘Perhaps we should converse about that while we wait rather than long-ago history which neither of us can change.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Her pale pink lips curved up into a superior smile. ‘Here comes John with the latest ledger.’
The servant handed her the book. Lady Edith placed it on the trunk with a thump. With a slight tremor in her hand, she opened the pages and ran her finger down the neat figures.
‘Shall I explain what it all means?’ she asked with a honey-sweetened voice. ‘Or do you require me to demonstrate that it is my writing?’
Brand carefully schooled his features. He could tell by the way Lady Edith arrogantly raised her eyebrow that she expected him not to be able to read Latin. The time he’d spent serving the Emperor in Byzantium had taught him both the value of an education as well as the value of keeping such knowledge to himself.
‘Both.’
Lady Edith launched into lengthy but simplistic explanation, pointing to various notations and numbers. Her cheeks took on the colour of a spring dawn and her grey eyes began to sparkle, turning her face from pleasant to truly beautiful and desirable.
Brand’s body responded anew to her nearness and her delicate scent. He tapped a finger against his mouth as a glimmer of an idea came to him. The perfect lesson for a proud lady. She needed to learn her new status and he needed to learn the secrets of this estate. This estate would belong to his descendants for all of time. It meant all of his struggles were worthwhile. He would succeed and prove his father’s wife’s words wrong. He was not worthless and fit only for the pigsty. This estate proved his worth, and he needed the right sort of woman to be his wife, someone who understood what it was like to be from the North.
‘The estate is indeed productive,’ he said at the end of Lady Edith’s lengthy recital about what she had done to improve the estate this year. ‘You appear well versed in all aspects of it. A surprising pastime for a lady.’
