Jilliand Read online

  In his tongue, she replied, “From the north shore. I seek passage to England on one of your warships. I can use both sword and bow. I can be another eye for the steersman.” Jilliand paused. Looking at the man directly, she added, “Rurik the Viking Sea King is my husband. His place was attacked, and all are dead.” Gritting her teeth, fighting tears, she added, “Rurik and his ships were not there. I must go to where he can find me.”

  She waited while her words sank in. The man’s frown relaxed, and he simply nodded. “Come, make yourself warm, eat, and rest. My wife is yonder,” he said, pointing toward a large dwelling. “Tell her I sent you.” Nodding to Jilliand again, he left her. Jilliand walked toward the place he pointed out. The man’s wife was tall and pretty with thick blonde hair braided and piled on her head. Her dress was covered with panels of bright blue fabric interwoven with intricate designs in gold and red threads indicating her high station. The lady graciously welcomed Jilliand into her home.

  Inside, she prepared a bath for Jilliand and helped bind her swollen breasts. The woman gave her a clean, thick, heavy gown and worked Jilliand’s long hair. When the husband returned, he welcomed her to their evening meal. He noted her arm rings, the rings on her hand, and the small blade she carried with her. He never asked, but Jilliand could tell he would want to know her story. He had given her shelter; he had a right to know.

  The woman’s eyes filled with tears of sympathy as Jilliand told of losing her child. “You lost your family, your child, and one you considered your mother in one day. The fates have played hard with you; perhaps they have better plans for you now.” Her voice was soft and gentle. Jilliand fought to keep from crying at the kindness being shown to her. She was praying this man would be willing to help her move on.

  “You say you were taken during a raid on English soil. You wish to return to England? Why?” he asked pointedly. “You could stay here, with us. You are Viking now. You belong to Rurik.”

  “I must go where I believe my husband will search. He knows I will be waiting for him. I must return to my people until such time as he finds me.” Jilliand could not explain how she felt. She had already seen the destructive remnants of Viking vengeance on Rurik’s family. “I cannot endanger this place too. Word would spread that I live with you. Perhaps in England, I will be more difficult to find—by Rurik that is true, but more so and more importantly, more difficult to find by his enemies.”

  The Viking nodded. “You would know best what you have to do. Yes, you may travel with me. My ships leave in the morning. I will put you ashore where we have an agreement with the English.” He instructed his wife to find an additional cloak and some shoes for her. Jilliand removed both of her arm rings and offered them to him. “No, Jilliand. You are still a Viking queen. I will look for your Rurik while I am gone.” Without another word, he turned and headed to his sleeping quarters, calling, “Come soon, wife. I am cold this night.”

  The next morning, the sea king’s wife held Jilliand closely when she bid her farewell. “Thank you for giving me a moment of peace,” Jilliand whispered before she stepped away and boarded the lead ship. Standing at the stern of the vessel, she memorized every detail of the village—a place so like her home. Watching the shoreline grow smaller, she felt the wound in her soul grow larger. Perhaps I am not meant to have a family, a place, a home.

  The gentle motion of the boat and the sounds of its crew brought Rurik back to Jilliand. Her chest ached. Fighting to keep her tears at bay, she stared out at the horizon. The sea king’s crew accepted her presence without comment, as if she belonged to them all. Respectfully, they made way for her when she began to pace. Memories of her time with Rurik and his ship filled every corner of her mind, nearly breaking her. “I cannot do this,” she whispered. And just when Jilliand thought she would perish with the weight of grief, the ships slid into a cove blanketed by thick fog.

  Vowing to bring word to Rurik of Jilliand if he could, the Viking sea king stilled his ships, while Jilliand slid over the side and waded ashore. Climbing a dune near the water, she looked down on a small village. The heavy fog hung above the settlement, but Jilliand could see people going about their morning. Sounds of life drifted up to her.

  The Viking led his ships further along a waterway and moored them against the bank, still hidden within the fog. Suddenly, the Vikings stormed from the ships and laid waste to the small English hamlet without warning. Stunned, Jilliand stood frozen listening to the chaos. How does this constitute an “agreement”? Jilliand ran a short distance toward the village, then stopped, shaking her head in a silent no. Poor farmers and the few men acting as guards were no match for the onslaught. The ensuing fight was tipped heavily in favor of the Vikings. It looked to be a sad and quick end for the poor English.

  Suddenly, as if carried by that same fog, English soldiers thundered onto the scene—horses rearing, men with swords and lances, and foot soldiers with great shields and more swords. “I would not be joined with either side. I must not be seen with the Vikings nor with the English,” she said, speaking to the wind that carried the battle. Jilliand frantically surveyed the area.

  Pulling her gown up above her knees, Jilliand raced down the dune and sprinted around the outskirts of the village. Trying to get farther inland away from the fighting, she ran through the mud and over fallen carts. She scurried past huts and other buildings, many on fire. Men from the village dashed wildly about without direction, trying to escape. Jilliand darted around them. Stopping to catch her breath, she looked back. The fight was turning against the Vikings. There were more than ten English soldiers to each Viking. This English army came to fight—and win. The English pushed the Vikings back. Several Viking boats were already gliding away from the shore, as fire arrows peppered the water around them.

  Whirling around, Jilliand bolted past the timbers of a wrecked barn that was barely standing. She slammed right into an Englishman who suddenly grabbed her roughly around the waist. He was young, had the wild look of his first real battle, and the triumphant look of one with his first prize. Jilliand tried to push him away and pull her blade, but he was too strong and quick for her. With a flick of his hand, he knocked her smaller sword away, sending it flying far beyond her reach. Even so, she kneed him as hard as she could in the crotch. He moaned in pain, releasing her as he gasped and sank to the ground vomiting. Jilliand turned to run. She had not gone three steps, when she was again caught. “Stop!” another man ordered her. This man was much taller, older, and obviously a leader with the English. His grasp was like steel, and there was no hesitancy.

  Looking in his eyes, Jilliand knew she was taken. The younger man was stumbling toward them by this time, cursing and threatening Jilliand. Jilliand never looked at him; she kept her eyes on the man holding her. He looked her over. When she pushed her hair from her face, the man grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over to examine it. “Leave her be,” he ordered the younger man, in a tone that bade no argument. He freed Jilliand’s wrist, grasped her arm, and walked away with Jilliand in tow.

  “I had her first,” the young man muttered under his breath, wiping the contents of his stomach away from his mouth. He staggered toward her with fire in his eyes.

  “Did you not even look at her? Look at the clothes and jewelry she wears. Leave her to me,” the older man said as he regarded a group of his men now gathered. “No one is to harm this lady. Anyone who does will answer to the king.” Pulling her along, he asked gruffly, “Can you ride, lady?”

  “Yes.” Jilliand nervously glanced over her shoulder at the growing crowd of men watching them. She was easily lifted upon a great fighting horse that displayed his discontent over the passenger. Gripping the reins, it took every ounce of Jilliand’s strength to control the animal, but all the while she continued to talk softly to it. Slowly, the horse settled. Jilliand was quickly surrounded by English soldiers. At a command from her captor, who obviously commanded this troupe, the mounted men moved out, and Jilliand had no choice but to go with
them.

  Jilliand concentrated on the land ahead and never looked back. If the Vikings were being slaughtered, she didn’t want to see it. They rode hard through the night without stopping. Jilliand never spoke, nor was she spoken to; she just rode. Every mile took her farther away from Rurik.

  In two days’ time, they arrived at the largest burg Jilliand had ever seen. Although it was night, the stronghold was ablaze with light that spilled onto surrounding grounds. A deep, wide, water-filled moat surrounded the whole estate. Large flags flew at the entrance. There were great walls of dirt over thirty feet wide, behind which huge fortresses were positioned at each corner. Men on top walked back and forth. A giant gate that became a drawbridge was lowered, and the soldiers escorting Jilliand rode through. Jilliand dared not look around. She was pulled off the horse by the same man who had lifted her up. His treatment of her was neither friendly nor cold.

  That man took her through a large building centered in the burg. It rose above the surrounding walls, with encircling walkways atop the structure. Guards were posted all along the walkways at each of the four entrances and, Jilliand noticed, throughout the inside. She was taken down halls and into a vast room, filled with charts, a large table and chairs, knights and servants, and elegantly dressed men. At the head of the table sat a man. Jilliand knew by his dress and the manner in which the men treated him that he must be the king. The hall went silent when the soldier walked in with his prisoners. For the first time, Jilliand was aware that the young man who had accosted her was also a prisoner. He was clearly frightened and trembled as he knelt before the king.

  The older soldier gently pushed Jilliand down, as he too knelt. The hall was filled with an air of anticipation as the king apparently had expected their arrival. “I am told this man attacked you,” the king said as he gestured to the young man kneeling beside her. “Were you harmed?” Jilliand looked into his dark eyes that bore into hers. His voice was quiet but powerful.

  Without looking at the young soldier next to her, she responded, “He pulled me from the fire.”

  The king frowned. He looked from the older soldier to Jilliand. “I believe you lie. Is it not wrong to lie to your king?” His eyes narrowed and looked deeply into hers.

  “Are you my king?” Jilliand asked, her gaze never wavering from the king. She knew her cloak was filthy and her dress was torn and muddy, but she held her head high. “Is it not wrong to punish a soldier for doing what every soldier in your kingdom does to the women of those he has vanquished?” The king shook his head slightly. He walked around her and studied her.

  At length, he asked the soldier, “Why do you bring her here, Sir Edward?”

  “She wears your ring, Sire—” the older man began.

  “No!” Jilliand quickly interrupted, suddenly anxious. “I wear my own rings. I have taken nothing.” She turned toward Sir Edward. He remained kneeling on one knee, watching the king. “I have taken nothing,” Jilliand insisted again. “I wear what belongs to me, nothing more.”

  The king raised his brows slightly. Returning to his chair, he glanced at Jilliand as he sat and then commanded Edward, “I would see the ring. Bring the woman closer.”

  Jilliand was pulled up and pushed the short distance to the king. Wordlessly, he held out his hand. Jilliand slowly extended her left hand for him to see. He took her hand, looked at the ring given to her by Rurik, and then released his grip. Very softly, she murmured, “This is the ring my husband gave when we wed.” Still silent, he looked at her again. Jilliand returned his gaze, and he held it.

  Finally, taking a deep breath, Jilliand extended her right hand, showing him her mother’s ring. The king started, stood up, and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her closer, pushed the hood off her head, the cloak away from her shoulders, and then stepped back with a slight gasp.

  “From where did you get this ring, lady?” His voice was still commanding, but softer.

  “From my mother,” Jilliand replied, as she pulled her wrist away and closed her fingers protectively over the ring.

  The king spoke to his page, “Take the lady to the queen’s chambers and send several women to assist her.”

  Jilliand stepped back. “Sire, I have no need of the queen’s quarters. I would ask only to be allowed safe passage to …” she hesitated. She knew of no place to ask passage to. She only wanted to leave this place safely. “I would have no need of the queen’s chambers, Your Majesty,” she finished weakly.

  “Ah, lady. I beg to differ with you. You have great need of what the queen’s quarters can provide, starting with a bath.” She could see a slight smile on his face and hear men chuckling in the room.

  At first, Jilliand was too startled to think of a reply. Just the thought of being thrust upon an unsuspecting queen forced Jilliand to persist. She muttered, the words stumbling from her mouth, “I cannot go to the queen’s chambers, Sire …”

  The king interrupted again, “Avail yourself of the gowns you will find there, too.” He was already returning to his seat.

  “Your Majesty …” Jilliand began doggedly.

  “Yes?” His gaze rested on her, and a strange expression changed his face. It was kind, and a teasing smile grew as he watched her begin to squirm.

  “Where is the queen? How is she to feel about this?” Jilliand was horrified. She could not imagine how his wife might react to her uninvited presence. In the queen’s own chambers? And taking her gowns?

  “She is not here. I expect you to join me at court this evening. We dine soon.”

  She stood frozen. The king tipped his head to the side, his eyes twinkling. “Is there something else, lady? Perhaps your hearing is poor?”

  Choosing her words carefully, Jilliand replied haltingly, “Is it possible you do not know the queen well?” Several men coughed to cover their laughter.

  “The queen is away. I expect to see you when we dine, lady,” he repeated pointedly. Jilliand was certain she could see a smile on his face before he turned to Edward. “Release this man on the lady’s word,” he ordered. Looking at the young man, he sternly added, “You should thank the lady for your life, boy.” Jilliand knew she, too, was now dismissed.

  A page waved his hand toward a hallway and door, bowing slightly to Jilliand. Jilliand resigned herself to what promised to be a disastrous evening.

  Jilliand was led upstairs and down a long hall. The page spoke briefly to some men standing guard. He stopped, unlocked a heavy door, and pushed it open for Jilliand. She stepped into a place that seemed to have been shut up for a very long time. The rooms were cold, dark, and dusty.

  The page lit candles, started a fire in the fireplace, and said, “There will be someone coming to help you soon, lady. If you have need of service, please just speak to one of the men outside the door. Can I do anything else for you?” He studied her and wondered, Who is this woman that the king takes under his protection? I should care for her well, I think. He then backed away.

  Numbly, Jilliand shook her head. Would that I could leave too, she thought. She glanced around the chambers, which were the largest Jilliand had ever seen. Everything was furnished richly, with heavy tapestries hung on the walls to keep out the cold. The large overstuffed mattress on the bed was bare. The bed itself was large with ornate carvings on the headboard. One lone chair sat near the fireplace. A second room had a table, chairs, and empty shelves. The rooms spoke of station but felt void of life.

  A knock on the door announced the arrival of the promised lady-in-waiting. “Lady, my name is Becca. I have come to help you.” After bowing slightly to Jilliand, Becca continued. “The other ladies are coming with water for your bath. The king asks that you be in court to dine. We must make haste, lady. You should not keep the king waiting.” Not capable of speaking, Jilliand simply nodded. Becca moved the chair away from the fireplace to make room for the tub.

  “Do not worry yourself about the room, lady. By the time you return from dining, it will look like new.” She opened the door to more ladies, al
l young and serious. A tub was soon filled with warm water, Jilliand was bathed, and her hair washed with a sweet-smelling soap. Next, Becca wrapped her in a blanket while she dried her hair. “Might you be pregnant, lady?” Becca gently asked, noting her swollen breasts and the blood-tinged water.

  “Not anymore.” Jilliand spoke under her breath and stared into the flames of the fireplace. Becca continued to dry and comb Jilliand’s hair, keeping her thoughts to herself, for a moment. Then she carefully asked, “Might I bind your breasts for you? They would be less painful, lady.” Gratefully, Jilliand agreed.

  “Now, lady, come look. Which gown do you like best?” Becca looked from Jilliand to the gowns in an armoire and back at Jilliand. “They may be a tad large for you, but fear not, we can alter them.” Jilliand stood beside Becca looking at the gowns, which were beautiful but much too large for Jilliand.

  “The queen is much taller than I,” Jilliand offered timidly, wondering how on earth any of these could be fixed quickly. “How long has the queen been gone?” Jilliand asked no one in particular. Silence met her question. “Let me put it another way. How angry will she be if I must cut a gown?” One anonymous giggle burst forth in the room. Taking a deep breath, Jilliand turned to the women. “Please, ladies. Pick something for me that looks well but that will not take too much work. We are quickly running out of time.” At that, Jilliand was crowded out. She stepped back, grateful she had help. It took every lady in the room, including Jilliand, to reshape the gown for her. Nonetheless, Jilliand was pleased with the result. Never had she seen or, much less, dressed in a gown like this. Her heart ached to have Rurik see her now. The fabric was a deep russet color, with a low, square neckline that revealed the tops of her tightly bound breasts. The skirt fell in soft gathers from an empire waist to graze the floor. Jilliand removed her arm rings and her mother’s pendant. Her locket, silver cross, and her rings were her only adornment. Becca deftly rolled and piled her hair atop her head.