Wolf saw the exchange. He knew it exposed his weakness. Her. He could not stop it. He didn’t care who saw it.

  “Where is my brother?” he called out to them.

  “He insisted he was well enough to see the king,” Genevra told him, smiling. “He also insisted on bathing in the stream outside. He was shivering!”

  “It is good for a man to shiver occasionally,” Wolf said, leaving the bed. “It keeps him humble.”

  Genevra stopped and smiled at him. “I like your notions, my lord. A humble man is difficult to find. If that trait is important to you, then you are a good man.”

  He smiled, finding himself doing it more and more. He scowled. Alric must have thought Wolf was scowling at him, for he looked anxious.

  “I am pleased to have you back with us, Alric,” Wolf told him as the boy passed him.

  “For her sake,” he heard the boy mutter under his breath.

  “And yours,” Wolf called back. “You are brave. She needs brave people in her life to protect her from men like Ivar.”

  “She needed no protection from me,” Alric let him know. “She almost had him down on his knees. She might have been able to outrun him.”

  “Or she might not have been able to. You saved her,” Wolf said sternly. He hoped the boy listened to him. “No one will come against you. Yes?”

  Alric nodded. “Aye.”

  “I want you to be her protector. But if you want to cook,” Wolf continued, “that can be arranged, too.”

  Alric smiled and nodded again.

  When everyone left but Camelee and Hild, he turned to them and smiled. He didn’t realize how hard he was smiling until Camelee asked him if he was ill.

  Yes. He was ill, and it was too late to be saved.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tomorrow night was Christmas Eve of twenty nineteen in NYC. How many parties would she miss? How many men’s meaningless advances would she have had to fight off? Only to go home drunk and alone with no messages on her phone?

  “After we sweep the great hall and straighten the holly and the ivy, we will help in the kitchen.” After a moment, Genevra stared at Camelee curiously. “I was not expecting to see you smiling at the day’s activities.”

  “Oh, it’s not that—believe me. You said the holly and the ivy. It is the name of a beloved Christmas carol in my time, well, before my time as a matter of fact.”

  “Who will you miss tomorrow eve, Child?” Genevra asked her lovingly.

  “I—okay, well, there’s—” She thought about it another second. There was no one. She looked down at the nearest chair and sat down in it. The sad realization hit her. There was no one she would miss. No one who missed her right now. Maybe Karen.

  “What is it, Camelee?”

  “Oh, Genevra, my life has been so empty. I haven’t had a genuine friend…or anyone in my life for so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like. I’ve pretended my way around relationships, faked contentment, happiness, and I did it well—or no one really cared if I was faking it. That might be even worse.”

  “Surely the parents who adopted you—”

  “No. They don’t. Didn’t.”

  “Poor darling,” Genevra soothed and wiped her eyes. “I wish I could have been there for you.”

  Camelee believed her and let the older woman comfort her. No one ever had before. Wolf had offered, too.

  “Have you always wanted to be a mother, Genevra?”

  “Of course,” she said as if there were no other way to feel.

  Camelee thought in this time there might not be.

  “And yet you never married so that you could have children.”

  Genevra shook her head and looked off into the distance. “They would not be the correct children.”

  Camelee stared at her. She said nothing though. Maybe Genevra was right.

  “Besides,” Genevra said as she shook her head again. “As I told you, my heart has never felt as if it were mine to give away. I believe my true love will come find me and when he does, I will know he is the right one. If waiting has cost me children, so be it.”

  Camelee thought she should feel sorry for Genevra, but the woman was too happy and comfortable in her skin to pity. Genevra knew what she wanted and even if Camelee didn’t understand it, she admired Genevra for following her heart and not marrying a man she didn’t love. Women of this era didn’t have the luxury to denounce marriage.

  Fin, shockingly, was no exception to Genevra’s motherly attention. In response, he made certain at all times that she had enough food and that she was protected. In fact, he smiled almost as much as Wolf did.

  Wolf. What could she say about him? Was there enough time in the day?

  “The women whisper that Chief Kristiansen is in love with you,” Genevra told her, smiling secretively.

  Camelee waved her hand, casting off the gossip. But in her heart, she believed it. He kissed her like she meant something to him. And it wasn’t just a feeling. He gave in to her when it came to just about anything. She wouldn’t use it to her advantage for just anything though. It sometimes sent him off angry with himself and some poor unsuspecting fool, namely Fin or Alric. Both almost had their hands bitten off when they offered them to him. If, in mid-bite, she called out to him, he stopped and warmed instantly. It made her feel important to him. She liked it.

  When she wasn’t thinking about how love felt like a foreign germ she needed to expel, she was letting it touch her when he looked at her, smiled at her, kissed her.

  He was falling in love. The same as she was.

  So, she cooked, or she tried to. She guessed she should learn how. It was a basic survival issue, wasn’t it? Sadly, she didn’t know how to do anything. It hadn’t been something she was ashamed of before she came here and met Genevra, and many other women here. Now it was.

  Genevra assured her that she had nothing to be ashamed of, but the more Genevra and the others knew how to do and the less she knew how to do, the worse she felt about her life so far.

  Genevra smiled when she saw Alric entering the kitchen. He appeared a bit overcome with happiness at such a place, for here were loaves of bread hanging from the rafters, bushels of apples, whole lambs and pigs, and fish roasting over long spits. People were chopping, kneading, rolling, slicing and more everywhere he looked.

  He made his way to her table where she stood chopping an endless supply of carrots. It was the only thing anyone trusted her to do.

  “The chief sends for you. He is with Hild in your chambers. Tell him, please, that I will be here for the remainder of the day.”

  Camelee smiled at him and then motioned for Genevra to follow her. But her friend refused to go. She wanted to be a part of the celebration from the other side of the great hall, where she felt comfortable.

  So, Camelee left on her own. She should have known Wolf would be close by when Alric let her leave the kitchen alone.

  “Hild and I thought you might want to come with us for a walk.”

  “Outside?” she asked, seeing their furs. Queen Emma had a fur-lined coat made for Hild with a matching hood. Of course, the queen had also had a fur cloak made for Camelee. The two were fast becoming friends.

  Wolf carried Hild in one arm and her cloak in the other. “Would you prefer to remain in?” he asked at her seeming reluctance.

  “Are you kidding? It snowed last night. Of course, I want to go out!” She took her cloak and didn’t wait for him to help her put it on, then led the way to the front doors. “Hild, I’m going to teach you how to make snow angels.”

  “Okay,” Hild replied merrily to which Wolf laughed.

  Camelee wasn’t sure he made the sound more than a few times since she’d been here.

  “Will you teach me as well?” he asked, melting her bones with the deep cadence of his voice.

  “If you like, but your men will see you having fun with a couple of servants.”

  “And if they dare look at us askance, I will cut them limb from limb.”

  “Limb from limb!” Hild growled in agreement.

  “Wolf!” Camelee admonished. “Please don’t speak like that around her.”

  He promised not to in the future, but it was clear by the grins he offered Hild that he was proud of her.

  “So, what do Vikings do for Christmas?” Camelee asked, wishing she had paid more attention to her history lessons.

  “Because we are Christian, and belong to the Catholic Church, we celebrate the birth of our Lord. Many others practice the traditions of their Norsemen fathers, sacrificing to their gods for twelve days, burning wreathes and praying to trees. But some traditions they both share are drinking and singing, feasting and celebrating. Which we will be doing.” His smile widened into a salacious grin that made her feel drunk looking at it. “But you must stay close to me. Many will be deep into their cups, so stay close to me.”

  She nodded and smiled like a love-struck imbecile. He wanted to keep her safe. This was his world, not hers. She intended on looking nice. She didn’t want to look like a poor slave, for her sake, and for Wolf’s. But some of the men here…Ivar’s furious growls when he struck her and grabbed her by the bra…some of the men were dangerous. She would stay close to Wolf. She didn’t have to be told twice.

  She could try to learn the skill of defense many of the Norse women practiced. They kept themselves safe with techniques on how to bring a man down with or without a weapon. But this was a time of violence, not talking it out. There was danger around every corner, at least until you earned the men’s respect. She didn’t have the energy for that. She’d rather Wolf do it for her.

  “What about—” Camelee eyed him and then Hild, hoping he understood.

  He creased his brow and looked where she looked. “What about her?”

  “She must have gifts in the morning. What shall we get her?”

  “Get her? From where?”

  Oh, right. There weren’t any toy shops around here.

  “Maybe I’ll bake her a treat or two,” she murmured.

  They came to one of the keep’s exits and stepped outside to the snow-covered inner yard. The few trees in view were gnarled and white. Wolf put Hild down in the snow, where she proceeded to purposely fall face down.

  Camelee and Wolf both rushed to her and pulled up. Camelee realized as they doted over her that they were acting like a little family, and it felt more real than anything she’d had in her life.

  Fearless of the cold, Hild loved making snow angels, but she loved building a snowman even more. After it became clear what they were doing, others joined in and built their own, until it looked like a village of various sized and shaped snowmen.

  There was a great snowball fight with about thirty-five participants. Camelee and Wolf paired up and fought a good fight—until one of their opponents ran to get away from Wolf’s steady arm and passed the king, who happened to turn in Wolf’s direction at the very moment and was pelted in the face with a snowball.

  Everyone stopped. Camelee thought for a moment that time had stopped. And then Hild’s laughter shattered the stillness. The Danish king’s laughter rose with hers.

  Camelee could read the relief in Wolf’s face. Why? How much power did he have over Wolf? And if any at all, then wasn’t Wolf a servant, just like her? She would ask him later.

  “Papa kiwt him,” Hild whispered.

  Camelee heard her. So did Wolf. It was treason. But he appeared more shaken by emotion than fear. She’d called him Papa.

  Camelee wasn’t about to correct her. Hild had been distant toward her once because Camelee told her that her mother wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Although she didn’t like how Hild’s opinion of her mattered so much. She wasn’t the child’s mother. No matter how much Wolf wanted it to be so.

  She needed to get warm.

  The king called out to Wolf and began walking over. Wolf bent and pulled Hild up into his arms then handed her over to Camelee.

  “Who is this perfectly divine child?” King Cnut asked while snow melted off his long beard.

  “She is Hild, a Saxon orphan,” Wolf told him.

  The king’s clear blue gaze shifted to Camelee. “And this must be Camelee of Pendrey.”

  “Yes,” Wolf answered.

  Camelee smiled and curtsied with Hild on her hip. She stayed quiet, hoping to lead Hild by example.

  “Let it be known here and now!” the king shouted his command. It echoed throughout the inner yard, and possibly the outer yard, as well. “Camelee of Pendrey and Hild, the Saxon orphan, belong to Chief Ulf Kristiansen and shall not be touched upon pain of death!”

  “And Genevra.” The words burst from Camelee’s mouth as if they had a mind of their own. Though with a second to think about it, she would blurt it out again. “Please, Your Majesty. She is…” She shook her head slightly and swallowed her insides. Then began again. “She is my mother.”

  “Of course!” the king said and proclaimed her “mother’s” protection to all.

  She pulled a scene from a play she did in college. “Your gracious king, if I may humble myself before you one more time?”

  “Your brother in my kitchen, who is preparing a feast that will be talked about for years to come.”

  Camelee smiled. “Yes. That’s him.”

  The king shouted his command again, this time to include Alric.

  Wolf turned to her and grinned. “You have power over many.”

  “And,” the king added, reaching them and hearing Wolf’s words. “She has the affection of the queen.”

  “I’m honored to have it.”

  He narrowed his eyes on her. “See that you do not take it lightly.”

  “Never, Sire.”

  Satisfied with her answers, the king promised to see them tonight and left them.

  “Whatever you want to say,” Camelee said to Wolf, “can we do it inside? We’re freezing to death out here.”

  “Truly?” Wolf asked. “I feel a little warm.”

  They laughed as a horse and wagon passed through the yard, heading for the outer court. The wagon was really a large cage filled with people, much to Camelee’s horror. They were filthy and freezing in their tattered rags.

  “Mumma!” Hild shouted and then screamed. “Mumma!”

  A woman from inside the cage reached her arms through the cage. “Hild! Give me back my baby, you Danish bastards! Hild!” she wailed.

  “Wolf,” Camelee cried out. “Is that Hild’s mother? I thought she was mauled by a bear.”

  “It must not have been her,” he said. “The body was unrecognizable. Come. Let us stop that cart and speak to her.”

  They hurried forward while Hild shouted for her mother. Wolf was able to stop the slave cart. After telling the driver who he was, the man dropped off the driving bench and went with Wolf to the back of the cage to unlock it.

  “Good King Cnut said we can sell or trade any slaves we catch,” the driver said.

  “Mumma!” Hild shouted again when Camelee passed her mother.

  “Give me back my baby!” the woman screamed at her.

  Hild’s mother! Hild’s mother was back from the dead. Only, she hadn’t been dead. They had assumed…she had blamed Fin and she was wrong. She had also been wrong to tell a little girl that her mother wasn’t coming back. Hild’s mother. Camelee was losing the child she denied from the day she met her, and now, would have given anything not to lose. “We thought you were killed by a bear,” Camelee told her, shaken to her bones.

  “You thought? Did no one bother to be certain, Dane?”

  “I’m not a Dane.”

  Hild’s mother spat. “Saxon traitor. Even worse.”

  “Mumma!” Hild reached for her mother, and Camelee’s heart broke.

  Why should it? This kid was no one to her. She’d told Wolf over and over, but he wouldn’t listen. He wanted her to pretend to be Hild’s mother while he pretended to be her father and they would be a nice little pretend family.

  She wouldn’t let Hild go into the cart to her mother. “Just a moment. We’re getting you out of there first.” She walked away with Hild kicking and crying over her shoulder. She reached Wolf as he opened the cage door.

  “You,” he called and pointed to Hild’s mother. “Come out.”

  “Wolf.” Camelee stared up at him. “Why didn’t you or Fin make certain the person mauled by that bear was her mother?” She handed the little girl to him. “Give her back and let them all go free.”

  She left him without waiting for his reply. She wanted to go to the kitchen, to Genevra and Alric and tell them what was happening so that they could say goodbye to Hild.

  She fought not to cry on the way. She was done crying. This was all her fault for letting herself get attached. She knew better. She’d let herself feel something for Hild…for Wolf. Idiot! Love always hurt. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.

  She burst into the kitchen and hurried to Genevra and Alric and told them what had happened. When they rushed out of the castle, Camelee ran to her room, pale and already forever haunted by a little girl’s laughter. She preferred not to go out there and see Hild leaving them all. She didn’t want to see Wolf or speak to him. He could have saved them all the trouble by checking the body.

  All the trouble of trusting in what she hated most in her life. Motherhood.

  She entered her room, holding back her anguish until she nearly choked, and looked at the beautiful gown laid out on the bed. It was olive-green, embroidered around the hem and neck in gold thread.

  She went to it and picked it up, ignoring the small yellow gown beside it.

  It was getting late, and she hadn’t even started getting ready for the party.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I invited Frida to stay here in the keep with Hild,” Wolf told her when he returned to the chambers. “If she decides to stay, she will come back tonight.”

  Camelee didn’t answer him. She thought it would probably be more difficult to have Hild so close. She knew she was being selfish. But she’d never almost became a mother…and didn’t hate it. She was raw. She didn’t want to talk or hear anything more about Hild.