The Warrior's Runaway Wife

A soft, quick knock on her door drew her away from her troublesome cares. Recognising Hannah’s gentle tap, Avelyn rose to cross the small room and open the door to invite her newfound friend inside.

The boisterous sounds from the main room below had been loud, but they grew impossibly louder when she pulled open the door. She’d grown accustomed to the jovial laughter and curses of drunken men, but tonight the tone held a tension-filled undercurrent that had not been present before.

She motioned Hannah inside and quickly closed the door against the troubling voices. From the concerned look on her friend’s face, she, too, felt the tense heaviness in the air. ‘What is wrong?’

With a roll of her eyes, Hannah headed towards the bed. ‘Let us sit.’

Avelyn closed the door, then joined the other woman. The foreboding chill from seeing the strangers still lingered and now turned to icy cold pricks of warning with each step she’d taken.

Again, she asked, ‘What is wrong?’

Hannah sighed as she looked around the room before saying, ‘You know that Mabel has been unable to be here the last three nights.’

‘Yes. She’s been at home with a sick child.’ Avelyn gasped. ‘Did something happen?’

‘No. No, the child is getting better. But Edward, a favoured customer of Mabel’s, is below and he demands a woman. If it can’t be Mabel, it must be someone who looks like her.’

Avelyn frowned. He wanted a whore, what did her looks matter? ‘What difference does the woman’s looks make to him?’

Hannah patted her arm. ‘Not all men come to us for pleasures of the flesh. Some require nothing more than simple human contact, a hug, a kind word, a caress. This man is old and he lost his wife two years ago. Apparently, she had black hair and a slim body in her youth.’

Avelyn closed her eyes. Since the others had often remarked that she and Mabel could be sisters, she knew why Hannah had come to her. But to be certain, she looked at the woman and said, ‘What are you asking of me?’

‘You are not daft. You know what I’m asking you. I need you to take Mabel’s place this night.’ Before Avelyn could protest, Hannah quickly added, ‘The man is unable to perform, so it is not as if you would need to do anything more than let him hold you.’

‘Hold me?’ There had to be more to it than that.

‘Well, he’d hold you through the night, in bed, unclothed. He will call you Agnes and might require a kiss or two and sometimes he likes to fumble with Mabel’s breasts, but I swear that is all.’

That was all? Avelyn blinked. Other than a quick, chaste peck on the cheek, she’d never been kissed by a man before. And she certainly had never let a man see, let alone touch, her naked flesh. What seemed nothing to Hannah was far more than what Avelyn had ever done, or wanted to do, with a man not her husband.

Hannah broke the lengthening silence. ‘Nobody ever need know and for very little more than your companionship, he will give you enough coins to compensate for what we’ve provided you.’

The reckoning Avelyn feared might one day come had arrived. She shouldn’t have let Hannah convince her to stay until the rain ceased, no matter the logic behind the woman’s reasoning.

Now she was faced with paying off a debt and had no means to do so except by surrendering her grandmother’s ring, or doing as Hannah requested. She couldn’t give up the ring—it was all she had left from her mother.

Avelyn wanted to cry at her lack of options, but forced the useless tears back. As Hannah had said, no one would ever know. As long as even a slender thread of luck remained on her side, she would soon be gone from here—maybe in the morning, if it stopped raining. She could then rush on to Normandy or France and start a new life where nobody knew who she was, or about this night, or that she’d even stayed in this place.

Except, no matter where she ran, one person would know—she would know and, somehow, she would have to learn how to live with her shame.

She nodded her agreement, adding, ‘If he tries anything other than what you have stated, I will gut him.’

Hannah laughed and patted her arm. ‘Rest assured that will not be necessary.’

* * *

From his seat in the far corner of the establishment, Elrik watched and waited for the right moment. Two of his men were situated in different corners of the main room, doing the same as he—listening to the conversations of the others.

Everyone in town seemed to know that the owner of this ale house rented out the upper rooms to women willing to share their favours...for a price.

There’d been talk of new lady, a young one with hair the colour of night who had yet to accept a customer. Several of the men present had wagers on who would be the first.

If his hunch was right, this woman could be the one he sought. The search thus far for Brandr’s daughter hadn’t been easy—it wasn’t as if he could put his nose to the ground like a hound. Instead, snippets of conversations overheard in one place and rumours garnered in another helped to lead him in the right direction. The bits gathered had brought him here.

He was glad he’d changed his mind about travelling alone. His men had come in handy more than once during this search, as what pieces of gossip he missed, they had overheard.

Fulke, one of his men, approached and took a seat on the bench behind Elrik. ‘The elderly man who is sitting at the table nearest the fire, where I was, is looking for a black-haired wench for the night. Seems his regular woman isn’t available.’

Elrik lifted his tankard to his lips, but didn’t drink, instead, he asked softly, ‘Are they going to find him another?’

‘The woman in green is heading above to see if one is available.’

Elrik turned his full attention to the man Fulke spoke of. He was old, bony and from the way his hands shook Elrik wondered how he didn’t spill most of his drink on himself.

He rose and pretended to shiver, then approached the old man. ‘The fire looks inviting. Mind if I join you?’

‘Suit yourself. I won’t be here long.’

Elrik took a seat and waved the barmaid over. ‘Bring me ale and one for my friend here.’

The old man squinted at him. ‘Haven’t seen you here afore now.’

‘Just passing through.’

‘Ah. Decided to enjoy a little soft company for the night?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘What type of wench you looking for?’

Elrik shrugged. ‘A lusty red-haired one would be to my liking.’

‘Not me.’ The man shook his head and a few of the sparse white hairs on his head flopped down over his face. ‘I want one like my Agnes. A little thing with black hair and breasts that’ll fit in my hand.’

Elrik swallowed his laugh at the man’s bawdy talk. ‘Is your Agnes at home?’ If so, she probably wouldn’t be happy to know where her husband was this night.

‘No.’ A heavy sadness fell over the man, setting his lips to droop and making Elrik feel guilty for having ruined the man’s former good mood. ‘She’s been gone these last two springs now.’

‘I am sorry. I meant not to trouble you.’

‘No trouble. I come here when missing her gets to be too much to bear.’ He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. ‘At times just having a woman’s arms around me while I sleep helps ease the loss.’

Elrik patted the man’s hand before picking up his tankard. ‘You cared greatly for her.’

‘I loved her, lad. That I did.’

He wasn’t going to debate the misguided notion of marital love with the man. ‘You should find yourself another wife.’