Hrolf glanced angrily at Thork, who shrugged in mock despair, laughing. “You can see why Sigtrygg sent her here. He was convinced she spied for Ivar and wanted to behead her—!”
“That whoreson would execute someone who claims to be my kin?” Hrolf interrupted with narrowed eyes.
“Nay. ‘Tis why he sent me here, to make sure of the blood tie. He did not want to offend you.”
“And if I deny her?” Hrolf drew his lips in thoughtfully, calculating Sigtrygg’s game.
Thork clenched his jaw, and his lips straightened in a rigid line. He took a long time before he answered, a betraying nerve twitching near his stern lips. “He ordered me to behead her.”
Hrolf looked back and forth between the two of them, then burst into laughter so loud the rafters seemed to shake.
“By the blood of Odin, that rascally king of yours does enjoy putting you in the tight spot, Thork, does he not?”
Thork didn’t answer, clearly unamused by Hrolf’s poking fun at him.
Hrolf turned back to Ruby, demanding with a smirk that bespoke his disbelief of her time-travel, “Tell me more of yourself.”
Ruby stiffened her back at his mocking tone, but inhaled deeply to control her temper. “Well, I did a family tree years ago, tracing the history of my father’s side of the family back more than a thousand years. I was able to do that easily because there were a number of famous people along the way, like James, Duke of Ormond.” Ruby hesitated, sensing the twitters of laughter among the whispering people. Oh, heck! she thought. She may as well lay it all on the line. “I figure you are my grandfather about fifty times removed.”
Hrolf stared at her blankly, and total silence blanketed the hall, except for the crackling of the fire.
“I don’t remember all of it,” Ruby went on doggedly, “but I do know that your great-great-great-grandson will be William the Conqueror.”
“William the what?”
“William the Conqueror, one of the greatest military leaders of all time. The Norman conqueror who becomes the king of all England.”
Fascinated, ignoring the snorts of disbelief around him, Hrolf asked excitedly, “You say one of my descendants will vanquish all England and become its king?”
Ruby nodded, and a pleased smile split Hrolf’s craggy face.
“Also, although you are not called a duke now, the history books will refer to you as the first Duke of Normandy.”
“Do you give similar compliments to Sigtrygg, hoping to get on his good side?” Hrolf scoffed suspiciously, probably thinking she made up these false prophecies to bolster his ego.
“Hah! I think Sigtrygg is a pig who has this fascination with decapitation,” Ruby exclaimed inmpulsively, then clamped a hand over her mouth, realizing how inappropriate her comment must sound. But the men laughed heartily and the women giggled in appreciation of her vehemence against a man they did not admire.
“Tell me more predictions of my family,” Hrolf demanded, while a servant handed Ruby a cup of sweet wine. Ruby realized that Hrolf, like King Athelstan, thought she was a seeress, a person with talents to foresee the future.
“I don’t remember much about all the children and grandchildren,” she ventured carefully, deciding not to force the issue of time-travel, “but I do know about the direct line. You have a son, William Longsword, who will expand your duchy a great deal by adding Cotentin, or Cherbourg—”
Everyone pivoted to glance at the young man who stood behind Poppa’s chair, then back to Ruby. The teenager’s eyes widened at her mentioning his name.
“—and William will have a son, Richard I, called The Fearless, who will have a son, Richard II, called The Good, and he will have a son Robert, alternately called The Magnificent or The Devil. Robert’s only child will be William the Conqueror.”
The charged silence that followed her words told Ruby nothing. She didn’t know if she’d said the right or wrong thing, if she’d gone too far, or not far enough.
Finally Hrolf exhaled loudly. “Well, well, well! What a fine mess we have here. Clearly, girl, you do not come from the future. ‘Tis impossible, but ’tis equally clear you are of my blood. The resemblance to my sister cannot be mistaken, despite that short haircut.” He examined her hair closer. “Are you perchance diseased? Is that why it has been chopped so?”