At every meal she was made to serve Ivar. Every day she helped the english peasants with their chores, with cooking, and laundry, and tending of crops. Most nights he took her to his bed and all day every day Maerinn hated him. With every fiber of her being she hated him. Ivar was not kind. He was rough and bawdy and rude and demanding. Her life with Aiden had not been a pleasant one because Aiden was cold and distant but this...this horrifying existence among the heathens that had enslaved her and the English whose language she didn't yet understand, was far worse than what Aiden and Bridget had been.

She looked for ways to escape. The walls around this little village were weak in places. Perhaps at night while Ivar slept she could slip over the lower mudded walls and find a boat and go home to Brion. If Aiden had killed himself like he'd promised, then Brion would take her into his house. He was probably looking for her even now. Even if Brion and Da had guessed what Aiden had done with her, they wouldn't be able to find her. They wouldn't know where she had been sold to or even where to look. Her only hope was to escape on her own and get home somehow.

The englishman that they called Guy came out to where she stood in the yard. He took note of her gazing at the gates and shook his head sadly. Whatever words he said to her, they sounded almost kind. He was probably telling her that escape would be futile. She'd heard Ragnar and Ivar talking about Guy. They had called him a coward because he hadn't even tried to fight. Maerinn looked around at all the children running around the yard and knew that what he had done hadn't been cowardice. It had been very brave. He had saved these people.

"I must go," she told him in spite of knowing that he didn't understand her words. "I can not stay here. I need to see my brother and my Da again, even if they kill me."

Guy shook his head a second time and crossed closer to her. "If you run, they will kill you," he told her firmly.

"You speak Gaelic?" she asked with a gasp. No one had spoken her language in the three weeks since she'd left the slave ship and her ability to speak Norse was very limited. Finding someone who could speak her language was overwhelming.

"I speak many languages. Latin, Greek, Norse, and Gaelic," he told her. "And you, my lady, will be in great danger if you try to escape. I would not wish the Danes to harm you further."

"What would you have me do? I am not lady. I am only a slave. Even if I deny my God they will not send me home," she told him, defiantly.

"No, they will not," he agreed with her. "They will give you nothing unless you have something to offer them in return, as I did."

She looked to the gate again. "So when the time is right...I will try…"

"If you are determined to escape, I must tell you that the northwest corner has a gap where the stones have been knocked away. A man could not fit through but a woman of your size likely could."

She regarded him warily at this bit of information.

"It's not a trap. I will tell no one that you hope to escape and I have no way of knowing when you might try," he assured her.

"Why would you help me?" she asked, not seeing any reason to trust him.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Perhaps because helping you does not help the Danes. If it all I can do to defy them, I will do it." With that, he turned and went back to his house.

Maerinn didn't trust his motivations at all. Not based on the way he looked at her. Men had looked at her like that before and she knew what it meant. It meant that he wanted to take something that belonged to Ivar. She wasn't going to let that happen.

Nottingham

As much as Robyn loved serving his Lord King Edmund, he hated being present for meetings with Nobles. He tried to remain stoic at his place along the wall but he feared the boredom was showing on his face. This particular meeting involved arranging a marriage for the King's sister and Robyn had stopped listening to the particulars hours ago.

"We can't hold the wedding there," one of the lords said. The Danes have been raiding there for near a month, all thanks to Guy of Gisburn."

"No, you're mistaken," another lord spoke up. "The raiding Danes are coming in from the coast. The Danes at Gisburn have hardly left since he surrendered to them. They have remained in the village and have thus far refrained from pillaging."

"Well, it can't last," the first lord spoke again. "There is no way Gisburn has provisions for so many. They will set out for provisions soon enough and they will take them from the likes of us."

"That is why when you return home, you will fortify your keeps and ask the protection of the Lord," King Edmund told them. "As for the matter at hand, my sister would like to be married in the Abbey."

Robyn stopped paying attention again, his thoughts occupied with the likes of Guy of Gisburn, a man who harbored the Danes in his own home.

Gisburn

The hour had grown late and Guy's small hall was filled with the sounds of drunken feasting Danes. He had only drunk a little ale himself and watched with disgust as Ivar sat with his arm around a lowborn but rather pretty saxon woman. She had gone to the big Dane willingly enough and seemed to be enjoying his attention. Maerinn stood along the wall with a pitcher of ale as was her duty. Ivar seemed to have forgotten her. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe tonight she would have the chance to escape.

"And that's when I lifted my ax and I cut off his head!" Ivar finished his story with to roaring laugh.

Guy wasn't amused and had drunk just enough that he forgot to pretend to be impressed by the heathen's stories of conquest.

"You do not like my story?" Ivar asked, suddenly somber.

"Oh no, it was a very rousing tale. I think I have grown tired is all."

"Tired? No, I know what you need. You need a woman. That is why you never laugh. You should have a woman. Why do you not have a wife?" Ivar asked, as if the answer actually mattered to him. In truth, the Danes had come to realize that Guy was an educated man and in some small way they respected his knowledge.

"I had a wife. She died in childbirth three years ago," he told them truthfully.

The heathen man looked surprised and then even a little saddened on hearing this. Then he seemed to have an idea cross his mind and the excitement showed on his face. "Then you shall have another wife!"

"No...I don't…" he protested.

"Nonsense," Ivar disagreed firmly. "You have given us your hospitality and your wisdom while we occupied this place. That was not part of the bargain we made with you. The least we can do is make sure you go to a warm bed at night. Maerinn, come over here?"

Maerinn was at Ivar's side right away, pouring ale.

"What about this one? I could give her to you," Ivar offered,

Guy didn't know what to say. He didn't want to insult the Danes and he didn't want a slave wife. "She is very beautiful but she is a slave and I am nobility," he said carefully.

"I am the daughter of a chieftain," Maerinn spoke up, the first words she had ever spoken while serving at the table.

"You hear that? She is of Noble blood too," Ivar pointed out, amused probably because he was still drunk. "I tell you what Saxon. You take her for one night, try her out, and if you like her, buy her tomorrow as a wife." Ivar got up and stumbled away from the table, his arm around his new consort for support.

Maerinn stood next to the table gripping the ale pitcher so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Guy couldn't tell if it was fear or anger that had put her in this stance. Maybe both. Ragnar got up and stumbled away with a woman of his own, followed by several younger Danes.

"If you don't come with me Ivar is likely to hear about it," Guy told her.

She set the ale pitcher down on the table with a thud. Guy got to his feet and led the way to his chambers. He opened the door and sent Maerinn in ahead of him. He closed the door and sat in a chair in the corner to remove his boots. It never even occurred to him to ask Maerinn to do it. He just removed them himself without a second thought. He bent forward and pulled a footstool from beneath his bed and took one of the blankets off the bed for himself. Once he had settled in the chair with a blanket and his feet on a stool he realized that Maerinn still stood on the far side of the room watching him warily.

"Take the bed. Sleep. No one will touch you this night," he told her.

Maerinn climbed into the bed without a word and covered herself with the other a blanket. She placed a pillow over her head and in spite of the pillow being there to muffle the sound Guy was still all too aware that Maerinn cried herself to sleep.