Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

appearance left her gawking.
    ‘Norse,’ he said, gesturing to his clothing, his roguish grin bringing an involuntary smile to her lips. ‘From the Norwegian lands . . .?’
    ‘Oh, I see,’ Leoflaed replied, inanely. ‘Are you in our lands to raid?’ She glanced nervously about in case there were others like him waiting to strike. Feeling utterly ridiculous at his loud guffaw, she pulled her shoulders back and attempted a self-important stance. ‘Then I’ll take you to my father. He is the ealdorman and will know how to speak to you better than I.’
    ‘Why so? I speak perfectly good Saxon, though I may look like a Norseman.’
    Flummoxed and burning with embarrassment at being so teased, Leoflaed turned on her heels and fled to the hall, leaving the chuckling man trailing behind her.
    Extremely tired, hungry and dirty after many days of riding from the Northumbrian coast, and intent on reaching Nottingham, a further twenty miles to the south-west, this unusual stranger simply offered another pair of hands to be turned to the hard work of reaping. In return, he asked for no more than the use of the barn for his slumbers and daily rations of bread and pottage. He’d intended only to stay for a few days . . .
    But the days had become weeks, the weeks months and the months, years.
    Eadwulf had become so much a part of her family, so much a part of Leoflaed herself, yet somehow she still felt that her husband would never completely belong to her. An intrinsic part of him seemed to be locked away in the past, hidden from all who had so recently come to love him. Whether that part remained in the Danish lands, in Mercia as a king’s son so long ago, or even somewhere beneath the vast heavens as he’d sailed the seas, Leoflaed didn’t know. She had loved Eadwulf since the earliest days of his arrival, seeing through his rugged and unkempt appearance to the combination of strength and gentleness beneath, and lived in hope that the sadness deep in his eyes would fade as their friendship developed into so much more.
    And now, she believed it had, for most of the time. That Eadwulf respected and loved her, she didn’t question for one moment. But that he loved her more than any other, she doubted – despite his joy in his marriage and child being evident for all to see. For although Eadwulf professed to have put his past behind him – and Leoflaed knew how hard he’d tried to do so – she was certain that many details of that past would continue to fester inside him. She was equally certain that those details included someone who still held a part of his heart.
    Leoflaed’s father had quickly realised that this striking-looking stranger was a man who’d endured more than most in his life, and readily accepted the story of his true heritage and years of slavery. Wigstan was well aware of the Danish raid on London thirteen years ago, which had – so it had been believed – resulted in the deaths of King Beorhtwulf’s entire family, including his young son, Eadwulf. Beorhtwulf’s brother, Burgred, had also survived, due to his absence from the London hall at the time, and had readily stepped into his brother’s shoes.
    Having attended many meetings of the Witenagemot with King Beorhtwulf, Wigstan recalled him as an honourable man. And having met Burgred on a number of occasions, he’d believed Eadwulf’s account of his uncle’s treachery in betraying his own family to the Danes. Besides, Eadwulf’s similarity to his father was indisputable.
    So, having formed his own opinion of the young man, Wigstan had been happy to observe the growing attachment between him and his daughter – and had welcomed Eadwulf’s request for her hand only a year later.
    It had been a quiet ceremony at the estate’s little chapel. Leoflaed had noted Eadwulf’s deliberate evasion of any reference to God in his vows. From the very start, he’d been honest about his lack of belief in any deity. And it seemed that the omission had