Page 86 of Viking in Love

Caedmon, Henry, and some of the higher-ranking hirdsmen were bowing from the waist at Archbishop Dunstan as he dismounted. The horses were being led off to the stables. She had to admit, Caedmon looked godly handsome in a blue tunic with a gold link belt over black breeches tucked into knee-high polished boots. His dark hair had been trimmed and combed off his face.

“Welcome to Larkspur, Your Grace,” Caedmon said, leaning forward to kiss the priest’s ring.

I am not noticing the pull of fabric over his firm buttocks. Really. I am surely not that wanton. Well, mayhap a wee bit wanton. Aaarrgh!

The archbishop made the sign of the cross with two raised fingers over Caedmon. “May the Lord bless and keep you.”

Bless all of us, Lord. We are in deep trouble here.

The white-haired and white-bearded Dunstan had to be in his fifties. He was dressed in a simple cowled robe, but the fabric was of softest wool with an under-robe, or vestment, of finest Irish lace, peeking out at the wrists and neck and ankles, and the rope belt was threaded with strands of silver. A large gold crucifix hung from a heavy chain around his neck, and on his fingers were several rings.

A monk in tonsured haircut and coarser robe carried the elaborate, pointed headdress known as a mitre, which would be worn during official duties. Yet another priest placed a jewel-encrusted crosier in the archbishop’s right hand, the crooked shepherd-like staff being a symbol of his office.

The stern-faced archbishop’s eyes darted here and there, taking everything in. No doubt he would be able to report back to the king the exact condition of the keep right down to the number of soldiers and sheep for shearing. She could swear his rheumy eyes went wide on noticing the twining larkspur carvings she had made in the eaves of the pigsty. He probably thought they were some pagan symbols.

“Wouldst like to break your fast, Your Eminence?” Caedmon inquired. “I have set my cook to prepare a meal for you.”

Dunstan shook his head. “First we will say Mass in thanksgiving for our safe journey through this primitive land.”

Breanne could only be thankful that Caedmon had the foresight to set the housemaids to cleaning the small chapel this morn.

“The bathhouse is ready, if need be, and a private bedchamber for you,” Caedmon added.

Once again, Dunstan shook his head. “Mass first.”

No thanks for Caedmon’s thoughtfulness, just a judgmental haughtiness, as if any consideration was his due.

They were all walking up the step to the double doors leading into the great hall when the archbishop noticed her and the children, still propping up the wall. The children had the good sense not to misbehave, for once. “Who are they?” he demanded of Caedmon.

Caedmon did not even look her way. The grimness of his expression was telling to Breanne. He knew he was walking a fine line here. One misstep and he could lose all. “Those are my children,” he said, “along with Hugh here, my oldest.” He put a hand on Hugh’s shoulder.

“And the woman?” It was clear as a bell the disdain Dunstan held for women. His eagle eyes took her measure from head to toe. “Those fine garments are not of a housemaid.”

“This is Breanne of Stoneheim, daughter of King Thorvald.”

She bowed to the archbishop but, not sure of the protocol, did not dare try to kiss his ring.

“Stoneheim?”

“In the Norselands,” Caedmon elaborated, with obvious reluctance.

“A heathen Viking!” Dunstan’s nostrils flared with outrage. If she were closer, he might have tried to smite her with his staff.

“I believe she has been baptized,” Caedmon said before she could speak up and probably say something objectionable. He frowned at her in warning not to disagree with what he had said. What he did not know was that her father and all her sisters practiced both the Norse and Christian religions.

Something seemed to occur to Dunstan then. “Are you sister to Lady Havenshire?”

Oh, gods! Here it comes! “Yea, I am.”

“Is she here?” His eagle eyes scanned the surroundings.

Breanne shook her head.

“Where is she?”

She shrugged. “Back in the Norselands, I believe.”

Dunstan pointed a bony finger at her and said, “I will speak to you after Mass, and you will tell me the truth, or suffer the consequences. Do you understand me, wench?”