Free The Viking's Defiant Bride by Joanna Fulford Page B

was done. Elgiva stood by the Saxon graves a while and said her own silent prayers since Father Willibald had not been permitted to officiate at the burials or to say a mass for the souls of the dead. To her surprise Earl Wulfrum had raised no objection to her attending the funerals or made any attempt to interfere. In any case, his men were taking care of their own dead. A few of the Viking warriors stood at a distance watching the events with a careful eye, their presence a reminder of the new order.
    A cold breeze stirred the branches of the forest trees aroundand Elgiva shivered, drawing her mantle closer, fighting down the fear in the pit of her stomach. Like a leaf swept along on the current of a stream, she had no control over the events that would shape her future. Everything she had known and loved was gone as though in a past life. True enough, she thought, she had been someone else then. And now? Now she was a prisoner like all the rest, little better than a slave. Not quite, she amended. Ever since Wulfrum had announced his intention to marry, his men had regarded her as his domain. She had not been troubled or molested in any way, though they looked their fill whenever she appeared. Neither had a hand been raised to Osgifu, who came and went to her mistress’s bower without hindrance. To the best of her knowledge, the earl’s promise that there should be no more killing had been kept; now most of the Saxons serfs had been put to work, albeit under the watchful eyes of their conquerors. Only the fugitives rounded up in the forest remained chained and under guard. Rumours abounded as to their eventual fate, though Elgiva had been cautiously optimistic.
    â€˜Surely he will not kill them—he has need of them to work the land and tend the stock.’
    Osgifu had been more sceptical. ‘He doesn’t need to kill them to make an example of them.’
    However, a day went by and another and nothing happened, but each time the Saxons had looked at the prisoners they had felt only deep disquiet for the reputation of the Danes went before them and had been well earned. Since their coming all the certainties of life had vanished, leaving only a dread of tomorrow.
    Recalling that conversation with Osgifu, Elgiva wondered if her optimism had not been misplaced. She drew in a deep breath. Whatever the Danes decided, the prisoners would have no choice but to obey. Like the rest she had been kept under guard but she had been grateful for her relative isolation, not wishing to have any greater contact with the conquerors thanwas absolutely necessary. Now, outdoors again, she was restless, and her gaze went beyond the burying ground to the forest. Its quiet glades and green solitudes beckoned, inviting and forbidden, particularly after the confinement of the bower. It recalled happier days when she had accompanied her father and brother on the chase; recalled the sheer exhilaration of the gallop, the power of the horse beneath her. Thinking of the game little mare in the stables, Elgiva knew that was something else forbidden to her now.
    Forcing down her resentment and her anger, she laid her flowers on the graves. All around her groups of people began to disperse, mostly in silence, and sorrow hung heavy in the air. Elgiva followed, wrapped in her own thoughts. Then she became aware that two of the Saxons had been keeping pace with her and glanced up to see Leofwine, the smith, and Elfric, his son. The smith shot her a swift glance.
    â€˜My lady, we must speak with you.’
    Elgiva nodded discreetly, aware that she was watched. ‘What is it, Leofwine?’
    â€˜My lady, there are men hiding in the forest, in the cave by the old dolmen stones.’
    Elgiva caught her breath. ‘How many?’
    â€˜Two.’
    â€˜They must get away. Why do they linger?’
    â€˜One is hurt, lady. My brother, Hunfirth. He has a bad wound in his side and an arrow lodged in his shoulder. Our cousin, Brekka,