THE BASTARD OF BRITTANY Page 9

  “Bjorn!” Valdrik called out, swinging down from his saddle.

  Bjorn did the same and they came together in a bone-crushing embrace.

  “I am glad to see you looking so well, brother,” Bjorn said. With his duchess by his side, Valdrik appeared whole, hale, and happy.

  “I am well enough to take on any man, but mayhap not an army,” Valdrik replied.

  “You fear rebellion brewing?” Bjorn asked.

  “Ivar has already quashed one in the south, led by Count Ebles of Poitou, but there is now word that Mateudoi of Poher seeks an alliance with Robert of Neustria.”

  “Does he indeed?” Bjorn remarked. “The Countess of Poher arrived here over a sennight hence.”

  “Gwened is here?” the duchess chimed with a look of surprise. “Why has she come?”

  “’Tis a good question indeed,” Bjorn said, his hackles rising.

  Her husband was seeking an alliance? Had he been right all along in suspecting her motives? Had she only come to distract him while Mateudoi negotiated with the Neustrians? Was seduction part of her plan?

  “I must go to her at once!” the duchess said. She turned to Valdrik with a swift kiss on the lips. “Pray join me anon, my love.”

  Bjorn witnessed the exchange with a mixture of envy and resentment. Their affection for one another was genuine and mutual. He’d had this same thing once before, and for a brief time, he’d begun to hope he might know it again. But it seemed Gwened had only used him.

  Valdrik’s arrival had burned away the haze that had muddled his mind. He was once more thinking clearly and his emotions were back in check.

  “I need you to go to Poher,” Valdrik said, “before Mateudoi has time to organize any resistance.”

  “What of her?” Bjorn said, unable to utter the betrayer’s name.

  “The countess? Take her with you. She will be a stabilizing influence.”

  Bjorn snorted. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that! I doubt she can be trusted.”

  “Then I will depend upon you to manage her,” Valdrik said.

  Bjorn mumbled a curse with the awareness of how well she had managed him. “And what of her husband, Mateudoi? What would you have me do with him?” Bjorn asked.

  “Mateudoi is weak and feeble,” Valdrik said. “Adèle told me that he was born with a deformity. He will be no trouble to manage, as long as he does not get aid from the Neustrians. You must insure that does not happen.”

  ***

  “Gwened? I am overjoyed to see you!” Adèle entered the solar with a bright smile and arms open wide.

  “And I, you!” Gwened replied, hugging her sister-in-law tightly. “Are you well, sister?” she asked, her gaze probing Adèle’s face.

  “Surprisingly, I am,” Adèle answered. “I assume you know what happened here?”

  “Aye,” Gwened replied grimly. “I never thought you would concede Brittany so easily!”

  “What choice did I have? Rudalt left me with no defenses!”

  “I am sorry for Brittany, but I cannot mourn my brother,” Gwened said.

  “Nor could I. I feel as you do. I never would have wished this Viking conquest of our lands, but all is not as dire as it seems.”

  “Is it not?” Though Adèle seemed to want to reassure her, Gwened was still dubious.

  Adèle laid a land on her arm. “Valdrik has proven himself an honorable man and will make a far better duke than Rudalt.”

  “You truly believe that?”

  “I do. I have come to respect him…” She added with a smile. “And though I know it seems impossible, I have also come to love him.”

  “Then you are happy with this Viking? But it is so…so…sudden!” Gwened was incredulous, but Adèle seemed to glow with happiness

  “It was.” Adèle laughed. “I can’t explain it, but ‘tis true. What of you?” Adèle asked with a look of concern. “Have you been treated well in my absence?”

  Gwened fingered the stitching on her sleeve, wondering how much she dared to confide. “I have not been mistreated,” she said. “But I long to go home.”

  “To Mateudoi?” Adèle suggested.

  “He is not there,” Gwened replied. “He never returned to Poher after leaving me the letter.”

  “But he is there now,” Adèle said. “He sent me word that he is seeking an alliance with the Neustrians. Of course, my brother thought to rescue me from the invading heathens. I’m sure he was very distraught when I replied that I needed no rescue.”

  “He is surely praying for your lost soul,” Gwened said. She added with a sigh, “At least he is safe.”

  “You need to persuade him to cooperate with Valdrik,” Adèle said. “He wants peace in the land and will deal fairly with you both. You have my promise on it.”

  “You think your influence runs so deep?” Gwened asked.

  “I’m certain it does.” She laid a hand on her belly with a sly smile.

  Gwened stared in disbelief. “You cannot be saying that you are…”

  “With child?” Adèle finished. “I have every reason to believe I am.”

  “And it is his?”

  “Irrefutable,” Adèle answered.

  Once more, Gwened was tempted to confess her secret. She trusted Adèle implicitly, but what good could possibly come of it? She held her tongue. “Will I be free to go home now?” she asked Adèle.

  Part of her longed to go as far from temptation as possible, but the other part of her couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. What had happened between her and Bjorn could never happen again, but she knew she would miss him.

  “Valdrik wants you to return, but he’s sending Bjorn with you.”

  “Bjorn is going to Poher?” The news filled her with both joy and dread. “For how long?”

  “He will stay indefinitely,” she replied.

  “He told me as much, but I didn’t believe it.” She released a sad sigh. “Then we are well and truly conquered.”

  “That’s where you are wrong,” Adèle said. “We have come to an understanding with them, and as women, we have far more influence than any of our men would have.

  “We?” Gwened asked, wondering if she had subconsciously revealed her secret.

  “Emma and I!” Adèle clarified. “I am sorry, there is still much you do not know. Emma has also come to an understanding with Valdrik’s brother, Ivar. They will rule Quimper together.”

  “Emma, too? I can hardly believe it!” Had the Viking men woven some Pagan love spell over the Breton women? She strongly feared that she, too, had fallen under the enchantment.

  ***

  After her joyful reunion with Adèle, Gwened was reluctant to depart, but nevertheless accepted that she must return quickly to explain matters to Mateudoi before a grave mistake was made. An alliance with Neustria could only result in the loss of Brittany’s sovereignty. Adèle had convinced her that it would be far better to be ruled by this band of benevolent Vikings than to be swallowed up by Neustria, whose ruler had a longstanding enmity with Brittany.

  She and Bjorn rode out early the next morning, accompanied by half of Valdrik’s men. Gwened hated to enter her home with an invading army, but Valdrik insisted that they make a show of strength. It would be on her shoulders to soften the appearance of hostility. Although they rode side by side, Bjorn was unusually stiff and silent. At first, she attributed it to preoccupation with his brother’s orders, but over time, she realized it was far more personal.

  “Did you take me for a fool?” he asked at length.

  The question was abrupt and his tone unsettling. “I don’t understand.”

  “You lied to me. You used me,” he said. “You betrayed my trust.”

  “Betrayed you? How can you say such a thing after…after…” She was all too aware of the men who followed. “I don’t know what you are talking about!”

  “Your husband’s mysterious business with the church,” he said. “I know the truth of it now. Valdrik told me he was negotiating with Neust
ria.”

  “I didn’t lie to you! I wasn’t aware of that!” she protested. “When he left he told me he was going to petition the Pope about…about a personal matter.”

  “A personal matter?” He snorted. “That’s a bit vague, don’t you think?”

  Until now, Gwened had withheld the painful truth about Mateudoi’s petition for an annulment, but what point was there in holding back now? Bjorn already knew about her failed marriage.

  “All right,” she said. “The truth is that he left me to seek an annulment of our marriage.”

  For the first time, he faced her. “An annulment?”

  “’Tis the only way to end a marriage…aside from adultery,” she replied, face flushing.

  He studied her as if considering whether or not to believe her. “The timing of his disappearance and your arrival at Vannes is highly suspicious, Countess.”

  She hated that he’d reverted back to her title.

  “What I told you before is partly truth,” she said. “I needed to know if Adèle was safe. I had also hoped to buy you off with tribute. But in the event that that plan failed, I needed to know the strength of your numbers in order to build a defense,” she confessed.

  “Why do you tell me all this now?” he asked.

  “Because Adèle urged me to make peace as she has done.”

  “And you agreed? How do I know this isn’t another lie to take me off my guard?”

  “Is that what you think I did?”

  “Aye,” he responded with a harsh laugh. “And you succeeded all too well! With your dream-inducing love potions and innocent seduction.”

  “Dream-inducing love potions?” It was her turn to laugh. “You think I controlled your dreams? Are you mad? I gave you medicine for pain!”

  He said nothing more.

  A moment later, he was no longer riding beside her.

  ***

  Over the next two days, Bjorn pushed the pace to Poher, which made it easy to keep his distance from Gwened. Unable to trust her anymore, he was taking no chances. He rode in front and put her in the middle of his men. In the evenings, when they set up camp, he posted sentries outside her tent.

  He only allowed her to join him at the front lines the last few miles of the journey. They hadn’t spoken since leaving Vannes. If he had his way, they wouldn’t ever speak again, but there was no avoiding her once they reached their destination. His new position in Poher mandated their mutual cooperation. Bjorn would do as his brother expected…but he didn’t have to like it.

  “Your husband, what is the nature of his deformity?” he demanded.

  “The left side of his body is malformed,” she replied. “He has difficulty walking and has limited use of his hand, but he is otherwise whole.”

  Bjorn snorted. “Your family forced you to wed such a man? In my country, he would have been given back to the gods.”

  “You mean left to die?” she said. “His father wanted to do that, but his mother did not.”

  He turned to her with a disapproving glower. “She disobeyed her husband?”

  “She protected her child! Any loving mother would do the same.”

  “You would have nurtured such a child?” he asked. “You would have allowed it to suffer?”

  “Mateudoi does not suffer,” she said. “True, he does have some physical limitations, but he is a brilliant scholar.”

  He scoffed at her answer. “Do you know so little of men? Do you really think he would have chosen to live this way had he been allowed to decide?”

  “Why do you ask these questions about him?”

  “I must understand the man if I am to deal with.”

  “And how do you intend to do that?” she asked.

  “That will all depend upon him.”

  ***

  They arrived at Poher to find the gates closed and archers poised on the ramparts

  “Tell them to raise the portcullis,” Bjorn demanded.

  “They fear your army,” Gwened replied. “Can you blame them?”

  “Then go forth and tell your husband we are no threat,” Bjorn demanded.

  “Very well,” she replied stiffly. Urging her horse forward, Gwened addressed the gatekeeper of Poher. “These men come in peace. Open the gates.”

  “Milord commanded me otherwise, milady,” the gatekeeper replied.

  “Then go and tell the count, ‘tis me who desires entrance,” she said. She then returned to Bjorn. “Let me go alone to speak with him. He will not trust you.”

  “And what make you think I trust you?” he replied in a tone as cold as the northern seas.

  “What has happened?” she asked. “You treat me as if we never…” She looked away.

  “We never fucked?” he finished in a low mocking tone.

  His answer was like a knife to her heart. Her gaze snapped upward in confusion and fury. “Is that how you think of it? Is that all I was to you?”

  “Why would you ever have thought otherwise?” he asked with a contemptuous curl of his lip.

  Was this even the same man with whom she had shared a bed? All of a sudden, he was a stranger. Although she hadn’t mistaken their passion for love, she had at least believed they’d established trust and friendship. How could she have been so wrong? She wanted nothing more than to slap the smirk from his handsome face but somehow managed to restrain herself.

  “Go,” he finally said.

  “You will need to withdraw or they will not open the gate.”

  “All right,” he replied. “Just know this Countess, if you do not return to open the gate for me, I will not hesitate to set the castle ablaze.”

  Like most Breton castles, the keep of Poher was a tower of stone, but all of the other structures within the bailey were comprised of wood and thatch. It would take very little to utterly destroy them. Moreover, even the keep itself could not withstand a Viking siege without more fighting men.

  Gwened knew she had no choice but to do as Adèle had done in Vannes and take on the role of peacemaker. She just hoped that Mateudoi could be convinced to believe her.

  ***

  “What have you done?” Mateudoi angrily demanded. “Our kingdom is invaded by Vikings and you abandon Poher?”

  Gwened responded with a furious laugh. “You first abandoned me! You left without explanation and send no word when you would return!”

  “I was on my way to Redon Abbey when I learned of the Vikings,” he said. “I then sought aid from the Marquis of Neustria.”

  “Why would you seek help from an enemy?” she asked.

  “Because we both have the same desire—to drive out these Norsemen,” Mateudoi replied.

  “Did he agree to this alliance?” she asked.

  He nodded. “If we fight the Vikings, they will join us.”

  “But we cannot fight them!” Gwened said. “Rudalt is dead! Gormaelon of Cornouailles is dead! And we have too few men and no one to lead them!”

  He stared at her with a look of incomprehension. “You would just give up? You would sacrifice our land to these godless, murdering savages?”

  “To my knowledge, they have committed no murder,” Gwened replied. “They fought only those who resisted. If we do not resist, there will be neither bloodshed nor enslavement.”

  “How can you believe this?” Mateudoi asked.

  “Because I have seen it with my own eyes,” she answered. “I went to Vannes. I saw no violence, nor was I mistreated.”

  “What of the Church?” he asked. “How can we prevent the defilement of our religion when they refuse to give up their heathen ways?”

  Recalling Bjorn’s blood sacrifice, Gwened hesitated to answer. “Perhaps in time we can convert them?”

  “More likely, they will corrupt our people and bring about largescale apostasy!” he answered.

  “Perhaps some understanding can be reached? Talk with them,” Gwened urged. “What choice have you when an army of Vikings stands at the gate?”

  “One way or another, I will
fight this,” Mateudoi vowed. Limping toward her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “But I cannot do it alone. I need your support, Gwened.” He eyes sought hers. “Do I have it?”

  “You ask for what I cannot give you,” she replied, throwing his own words back in his face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Weeks passed in a tension-filled truce. Sullen and silent, Mateudoi barely left his study, leaving Gwened alone to deal with Bjorn. She also avoided his company as much as possible, but he made it easy to do as he spent little time in the castle, but went about his days much as he had done in Vannes.

  Gwened, meanwhile, once more, endeavored to keep him out of her thoughts by applying herself to her needlework. With the Viking conquest, the tapestry she had spent six years on, suddenly had new meaning.

  Three brothers had succeeded in conquering the kingdom, an event that would forever change the fate of Brittany. With needle and woolen thread, she began to record the events in detailed pictures. Through embroidery, she depicted the army of mounted Vikings, the hand-to-hand combat that killed Duke Rudalt, the wedding of the Viking chief with the widowed duchess, and the violent assault on Quimper.

  Her thoughts then turned to Bjorn. Reaching for a stick of chalk, she began a rough sketch of a Viking battling a boar. When she was satisfied, she searched her supply of deeply died wools for a particular shade of blue.

  She had just begun embroidering his tunic when Bjorn entered her solar.

  “What is this?” His gaze was wide with amazement as he took in the yards of embroidered cloth that stretched the length of the chamber.

  “You invade where you are not wanted,” she replied icily. “This is my private place.”

  Ignoring her, he knelt and took up a section of cloth. His brows pulled together as he studied the colorful pictures. At length he looked up. “You are a storyteller, Gwened?”

  “I told you before that I enjoy needlework,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “This is not needlework!” he exclaimed. “’Tis genius! I have never beheld such artistry!”

  “I am gratified by your praise,” she replied politely.

  He rose and came to her. “Tell me about this. I would know more.”