“I repeat, who are you?” Blackthorne asked through gritted teeth.
Toste looked pointedly at the hand which still held his daughter. “I am Toste Ivarsson, and this is Bolthor the Skald, and if you do not release that nun this instant, I will cut off your hand.”
Esme’s eyes went wide at his words.
What? You thought I was a pacifist Viking?
The fool did not release his hold on his daughter, who tried to intercede, “Toste is just teasing. Ha ha ha. What a jester he is!”
Do not be naive, m’lady. I would slice your father through in a trice and think naught of it.
Her father looked askance at her. “Toste? You call the heathen by name? By the rood, girl, if you have given your virginity to a bloody Viking, I will take a birch rod to your back till there is no skin left.”
Keep it up, Blackthorne. You are tempting my sword. “Oh, well, I think I would have something to say about that,” Toste said, stepping forth and forcibly pulling Esme out of her father’s grip and to his side, where he tucked her under his left arm. The sword in his right hand remained poised at the ready. Bolthor had moved closer to the men as well, and he held his halberd in the battle position. “For your information, Lord Blackthorne, though I question your paternal rights at this point, I have not lain with your daughter.”
I will, though. You can be sure of that. She will owe me much at the end of this day, and I do not mean coin.
“How dare you intervene between a father and his daughter?”
“I dare.” And I want to.
“King Edgar will have something to say about this matter, I daresay.”
Blah, blah, blah. Let’s end the talking and start fighting. My stomach is growling with hunger and my tongue thirsts for a big horn of Margaret’s Mead. Toste shrugged. “Edgar is not my king.”
Her father’s brows narrowed with suspicion. “Has she hired you and a troop of Vikings to man the parapets at Evergreen? If so, you should know that the girl has no coin. A pauper nun, she is, and not even that.”
Why does he keep calling her “girl”? Ah, I see, probably to belittle her and make her feel subservient. Voltar the Vicious used to do that with his young wife, Olga Quiet-Tongue. “Oh? Really? Tsk tsk. Lady Esme, you did not inform me of that fact.” Esme was looking at him as if he’d gone mad. He had. Mad with rage. Mad with the injustice of his twin’s death. Mad with the injustice of Esme’s ill-treatment. Mad with the blood-lust rising in him, along with another kind of lust. Mad, mad, mad! He turned his attention back to Lord Blackthorne. “Mayhap your good king would be interested in knowing what happened to Evergreen’s revenues these past ten years.” He blinked his eyes innocently at the thieving nobleman.
“You… you…” Blackthorne sputtered.
“Well, it has been pleasant chatting with you, Lord Blackthorne, and you two knaves, too, but Bolthor and I were about to have a cup of mulled mead. It is damned cold out there. Do not slam the doors on your way out.” With that, Toste took Esme by the hand and began to walk toward the great hall. He did not mind putting his back to the three blackguards, because he knew Bolthor was watching out for him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, now that they were out of her father’s hearing.
“Do not thank me yet, m’lady.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, still leading her by the hand. “Your bill will be paid in good time.”
“My father already told you I have no coin, but I will be able to pay you eventually… if you are willing to forgo immediate payment. I am more than aware that you put your life on the line for me today.”
“I have no interest in coin. Wealth aplenty do I already have. But you will pay. You will pay.”
She frowned. “How?” She gasped then as understanding hit her. “You would not demand such. Surely you would not.”