Longing For Her Forbidden Viking
Longing For Her Forbidden Viking
Harper St. George
'Become my concubine. ' But never his wife…? Part of To Wed a Viking: Saxon maiden Ellan would rather wed a Dane than be forced into marriage by her father. In fact, she has one Dane in mind. But strong warrior Aevir has been ordered to marry for duty – all he can offer Ellan is a place as his concubine! She may be bold, but Ellan can never accept that! Even if his burning kisses make it incredibly tempting…
“Become my concubine.”
But never his wife?
Part of To Wed a Viking: Saxon maiden Ellan would rather wed a Dane than be forced into marriage by her father. In fact, she has one Dane in mind. But strong warrior Aevir has been ordered to marry for duty—all he can offer Ellan is a place as his concubine! She may be bold, but Ellan can never accept that! Even if his burning kisses make it incredibly tempting...
HARPER ST GEORGE was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was this setting, filled with stories of the old days, that instilled in her a love of history, romance and adventure. At high school she discovered the romance novel, which combined all those elements into one perfect package. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two young children. Visit her website: harperstgeorge.com (http://harperstgeorge.com).
Also by Harper St George (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Viking Warriors miniseries
Enslaved by the Viking
One Night with the Viking
In Bed with the Viking Warrior
The Viking Warrior’s Bride
Outlaws of the Wild West miniseries
The Innocent and the Outlaw
A Marriage Deal with the Outlaw
An Outlaw to Protect Her
To Wed a Viking miniseries
Marrying Her Viking Enemy
Longing for Her Forbidden Viking
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Longing for Her Forbidden Viking
Harper St George
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08934-0
LONGING FOR HER FORBIDDEN VIKING
© 2019 Harper St. George
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Contents
Cover (#u88f2915a-11eb-5f64-a1d9-e2f0d73ea248)
Back Cover Text (#uc6a7967f-6a6f-52c9-8345-4d544bc7ae8e)
About the Author (#u07294c6e-2c81-5574-a750-18c6472967d0)
Booklist (#u9f68d2cc-9fc4-5702-9ab8-25cd72ba5181)
Title Page (#u3fa3dccf-43ab-540b-863c-dfea2a37836d)
Copyright (#u4a9b9a4b-befd-5d85-b397-3cbf44f8d4bd)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#ude012291-ba46-5d33-9418-8f3e629633d9)
Prologue (#uc3328e8a-0d97-55cd-966e-08a1be8fe54e)
Chapter One (#u4f3b6c41-cb73-5f47-9a16-6aa335d9ca43)
Chapter Two (#u733c913a-8574-589f-81d7-1860fa50a175)
Chapter Three (#u04eafb5f-fea6-5415-9e3d-2dc0453cc047)
Chapter Four (#u2ddc193f-53f0-5e93-b832-8565e3ac3028)
Chapter Five (#u0aca1316-a545-553c-a86c-bae63709d3bd)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Ellan was not a good Saxon. The unfortunate insight was one she had learned to accept long ago. Good Saxons—loyal Saxons—despised the men from the North. They hated the invaders with a fierce passion that left room for nothing else, not kindness, nor compassion, and especially not happiness. That particular emotion was one that she hadn’t experienced for many years. Not since before her mother had left them. But here in Alvey, surrounded by the enemy Danes, she would occasionally get glimpses of the elusive sentiment. There were moments like this very night that would fill her with a feeling of such well-being that she couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with her to find such delight while surrounded by these barbarians.
It must mean that she didn’t hate the Danes at all. Her father would disown her if he knew.
Candlelight painted Alvey’s spacious hall with a warm, golden tone. Flickering ribbons of light caressed the high walls of the space, creating shadows in corners, but warming the tables where groups of warriors—most of them Danes—had gathered to toast their friends who had returned home from a long summer away fighting to the south. More of the men filtered inside to seek sanctuary from the cold night as the mead flowed, their deep voices rising in greeting as they approached friends. A tickle of frigid air sneaked inside each time the door opened, only to be quickly warmed by the heat from the rolling fire and the press of bodies.
Ellan should be afraid of these newcomers. To a man they were the hated Norse and they were returning from battles and pillages against honest, hard-working Saxons. Their Jarl had invaded Alvey nearly two years ago without bloodshed under the guise of marriage to the fortress’s Saxon lady. Since then more of them had come every season until they outnumbered the Saxons. With this last group to arrive before winter set in, Alvey was filled to bursting with them.
A quick look at her sister at her side confirmed that Elswyth—a good Saxon—cast furtive glances at each burst of noise as if expecting one of the men to grab them, her fingers clenching the pitcher of mead she held in a white-knuckled grip.
‘’Tis fine,’ Ellan couldn’t help but whisper to her. ‘They’re too excited to be home to cause trouble tonight.’
Elswyth nodded, but the tension in her shoulders failed to ease.
Lady Gwendolyn had invited Ellan and Elswyth to Alvey at the end of summer to serve her. For the past several months, the fortress had become Ellan’s sanctuary. She liked the excitement in the air. The fortress itself was being enlarged. An upper floor had recently been completed with a whole new wing to be added starting in the spring. A barracks had been built for some of the warriors, with a new one in the plans. Things were happening here, unlike dreary Banford, where everything stayed the same.
She adored how the sounds of merriment invigorated all of Alvey. Thanks to Lady Gwendolyn’s marriage to Lord Vidar, the Dane Jarl, peace had come to their small corner of Northumbria. Saxon men and Dane men sat side by side at the tables, laughing and jesting. Friendships and alliances were being formed.
Father would never believe that such a union could be possible. He wouldn’t want to believe. Ever since she could remember he’d despised the invaders; the fact that Mother had run off with one years ago only added to the marinade of bitterness that he stewed himself in daily. Leaving that fog of hatred and despair behind had opened her eyes to an entire new world filled with good things. She was even coming to think of this strange place where Saxons and Danes co-existed as home.
Home. The thought settled down low in her chest, its warmth finding places that had been barren with cold for years. Banford hadn’t felt like home since Mother had left. The idea of returning there filled her with dread.
‘Have you found a man who suits you yet?’ Elswyth teased, dragging her gaze from a group of men who had wandered in from outside.
Ellan grinned. Earlier in the evening she had made the offhand comment that the warriors were a handsome lot. The declaration had been said in jest to rile her ever-serious sister. ‘Nay, not yet.’
Of its own accord, Ellan’s gaze found its way to the table where Lady Gwendolyn sat with her husband, Lord Vidar, and a few of their best warriors. One of the newcomers, a warrior she had heard someone call Aevir, sat with them. His large hands were cupped around a tankard of mead and he leaned back with a long leg stretched out before him, his storm-cloud eyes partially hooded. His lazy-cat repose suggested insolence, but one would be a fool to disregard his astute gaze and the strength that lurked beneath the surface. A leather tunic stretched across wide, strong-looking shoulders. He was a wild, summer storm hidden in the promise of a few grey clouds.
If she had been looking for a man to favour, she had never set eyes on a finer candidate. Nay. Everyone knew that husbands should be dependable and staid. That wildness he carried about him promised everything but that. He was more suited to illicit encounters and things she would be better off not contemplating.
Allowing her gaze one final moment to linger over him, she traced the strong angle of his jaw and the fine shape of his lips, moving upwards to catch one final glimpse of his eyes. Her heart stuttered when she realised that they stared back at her. His cool blue eyes seemed to be assessing her in the same way she was looking him over. If he was pleased with what he saw, she couldn’t tell, but she couldn’t help but like the way he paused on her face. She tried to hold his gaze, but she couldn’t. It was too intense, too probing, as if her every thought was his to draw out and examine as he pleased.
Turning towards Elswyth, she pretended to adjust something on her sister’s sleeve. When she glanced back to the warrior, he was still watching her, this time with the hint of a smile hovering around his lips. Her stomach gave an excited flip.
‘Oh, heavens,’ Elswyth muttered. ‘I suppose you’ve narrowed it down now. Which one of them is it?’ She made to look over Ellan’s shoulder towards the full table.
‘Don’t look!’ Ellan laughed, giving him her back once again. ‘Hand me the pitcher and I’ll take it over.’
Elswyth shook her head in amusement and gladly handed over the mead. Ellan tried to keep herself steady, but by the time she’d refilled the drink of everyone at the lord and lady’s table, she’d spilled a fair amount of it due to the anxious churning of her belly. Really, one would think she’d never caught a man’s eye before!
* * *
For the rest of the evening the occasional quick glance would confirm that the warrior continued to be interested in her. It was an interest she returned threefold. Even though she knew nothing could come of the flirtation—she was a simple farm girl from Banford and he was a respected commander who could marry a lady far richer than her—she couldn’t make herself stop it.
Finally, late in the evening some of the men began to retire and Lady Gwendolyn bid them good evening. Ellan gathered the pitchers to return them to the larder for the night, hooking two on each hand to save herself a trip. Someone had moved the stool that usually stayed in the room, so she leaned up on her tiptoes and awkwardly returned them to the high shelf above the casks of unopened mead and ale that lined the wall. But the angle was tricky and the last one began to wobble because she couldn’t quite push it completely on to the shelf. Just when it would have crashed to the floor, a strong hand reached past her to push it firmly into place.
She whirled around to see Aevir standing much too close to her. She stepped back in surprise and came up against one of the barrels.
‘What is your name?’ His voice was deep with a bit of a husky texture, his intent clear as his gaze swept her face to land on her mouth. He was going to kiss her. Blood rushed in her ears and she licked her lips in anticipation.
‘Ellan,’ she answered, her heart thumping with joy that he’d sought her out.
‘Ellan.’ The simple name sounded exotic in his voice. ‘I want—’ Before he could finish, she nodded. It was an instinct more than the result of any conscious thought. His lips curved in the hint of a smile as his large hands cupped her face and his charged gaze settled on her mouth again. As soon as his lips touched hers, she opened for him eagerly, excited that this warrior wanted her in the same way she wanted him. She suspected that he intended far more than a kiss, but she would stop him when the time came. Right now she simply wanted to enjoy this with him.
The seductive stroke of his tongue against her lower lip made her tremble. She gripped his biceps, holding on to keep from losing the contact, and he groaned softly in pleasure. The gruff sound did something to her that she couldn’t fathom. It seemed to vibrate inside her, awakening a longing that she’d never known was possible. Heat began to unfurl in her belly as if he’d lit a flame inside her. She had been kissed a few times before...but never like this. The men had either been too timid or too harsh. Nay, not men. She could see that now. They had been boys compared to Aevir.
This kiss was different. It was just right. The rough and smooth glide of his tongue had only just pressed inside, giving a tentative stroke against hers, when a harsh voice called his name.
He pulled back a little, his eyes hungry and deep as he stared down at her, but he didn’t let her go when he said, ‘What?’ to the shadow of the man who stood in the doorway. One strong hand had moved to the nape of her neck and his thumb slid down her neck in a gentle caress that sent a delightful shiver through her.
The newcomer spoke in the Norse tongue. She’d learned enough of their words to understand that he was warning Aevir away from her, but the disappointment that crossed Aevir’s face confirmed it. When she and Elswyth had arrived, the men had been warned to keep their distance because the sisters were under Lord Vidar’s protection. Aevir was new so he hadn’t known until now apparently.
The frustration in the air between them was palpable. A hand had dropped down to her waist and his fingers tightened on her enough that she knew he didn’t want to let her go. A pleasant tingle was left behind when he released her and stepped away. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t know.’
She shook her head. ‘Lord Vidar doesn’t tell me who I can kiss.’ She knew that Lord Vidar had hoped to protect them when he’d passed the decree, but she couldn’t help but resent the implication that she couldn’t make up her own mind about whom she kissed.
Aevir grinned at her, but his eyes were still hot and intense. ‘Nay, I’m certain he wouldn’t, but I, unfortunately, don’t have the same freedom.’
He was teasing her. She wanted to pull him back to her, to demand the kiss that she’d been deprived of, but her rational mind intervened. There was no future for them. He’d only kissed her because he thought she’d be available to warm his bed for the evening. He was sure to be disappointed eventually when she said nay to that.
‘Goodnight, Ellan.’
‘Goodnight, Aevir.’ His eyes flared ever so slightly when she said his name and dropped to her lips again. She could see his desire for her warring with his common sense. But, in the end, he gave her a final, reluctant nod and turned, leaving her in the larder alone.
It was madness because she didn’t know him at all, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d lost out on something very special.
Chapter One (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Bernicia, northern Northumbria—winter AD 872
It had been nearly a fortnight since he had come to Alvey and first laid eyes on Ellan. In that time Aevir had failed to completely banish the girl from his thoughts. The days were easy enough. They were filled with almost constant sparring and travel that had taken him to the northern corners of Alvey’s border with the Scots. It was the nights, quiet and often fraught with boredom, that made him ache for her. The strong pull between them was attraction in its most raw and unbridled form. It was so rare that he’d never quite experienced it with another woman. Desire, aye, and love, once, but not this nearly overwhelming need to possess another.
Had she been more experienced—and not under Lord Vidar’s protection—he’d have spent his every night in Alvey buried within her. As it was, he’d been forced to look for substitutes, but none of the women who had offered had the completely contradictory charms of sincerity and insolence that she had. None of them had that particular look in their eyes that said to him, ‘Teach me everything you know and I’ll find a way to break you with pleasure.’
The thought made the corners of his mouth turn up in a mocking grin. Ellan could have him in knots over her if she only knew how to wield the power she held. It was an unfortunate situation to find himself in given that the girl in question could very well be a spy planted by her father who was known for his hatred for the Danes. His only consolation was that she did not know how unreasonably besotted he was with her. Though she was bound to figure it out if he kept staring at her.
Her sister had married Aevir’s friend Rolfe after a whirlwind courtship earlier in the day, leaving the evening to be taken up with feasting, stories and music. There was a distinct lack of women within Alvey’s walls, so Ellan danced around the room along with Lady Gwendolyn and a few other wives and serving girls, taking the hand of a man in the large circle and twirling once before moving to the next. Her smile was breathtaking and the way she moved had him wondering if she’d be that uninhibited beneath him.
That thought forced him to look away and stare down into his mead, but the honeyed notes in the liquid only reminded him of the way the firelight played over the gold tones in her hair. Cursing under his breath, he wondered how much more of this celebration he’d be forced to endure.
The couple had long since retired to their bedchamber upstairs for the evening. Given the thin walls and flooring, there was no question that the marriage had been well and truly consummated. The usual ribald comments had begun and Ellan had sat across from him, blushing with each one. More telling was how she would glance over to him, letting him know her thoughts followed his own. Lady Gwendolyn had been indulgent and let the suggestive remarks pass until she had finally proposed more dancing. Aevir had been a fool to think the music would provide any sort of relief from wanting Ellan. In fact, as the evening wore on and his gaze kept finding her dancing form, he was beginning to think that the only way to rid himself of his obsession would be to have her once and get it over with. Jarl Vidar might disapprove, but whatever the punishment was it would be worth it.
Pushing his tankard back, he went to rise and go to her, but Jarl Vidar’s voice stayed him.
‘Aevir, stay a moment,’ Jarl Vidar called.
He sat back down, wondering if his intention had been so clearly written on his face. Frequently the Jarl wore a forbidding expression, but tonight he was relaxed and smiling. His own gaze was drawn to the movements of his lady wife as she danced.
Aevir breathed a sigh of relief that his intentions towards Ellan hadn’t been revealed. ‘Aye, Jarl.’
‘I want you to know that I appreciate you giving me your loyalty. You and your men have already proven to be invaluable assets to Alvey.’
Aevir grinned. ‘We don’t come cheaply, but we’re worth it.’
The Jarl was probably a couple of winters younger than Aevir, which was young for a jarl. It was a testament to how ripe this land was for opportunity to quickly gain status, which was what had tempted Aevir to come fight for Vidar. He’d roamed his homeland, raided the Franks and worked as a mercenary as far away as Constantinople for a handful of years, filling his coffers. His men respected him and he was known as an honest and effective warrior. However, the status he craved had eluded him. To become a jarl in his own right he needed land and lots of it, along with a small army to rule.
Jarl Vidar laughed. ‘Indeed. When you gave me your loyalty, I told you that you’d be well rewarded for it. Well, I’ve finally decided on a marriage that will help you secure the status you desire.’
On her deathbed, his mother had praised his strength, but had bade him not to flaunt it. The son of a slave was not meant to rise high in the world and strength would make him a target for men who wanted to keep him in his place. He’d vowed in that moment that one day he would rise to the same level of the men she feared. Though she wouldn’t be there to see him, he’d walk proudly among them, deserving of every bit of respect that they commanded for themselves. While he had travelled far and wide, the stain of being a bastard son of a slave had followed him. It had become clear to him that marriage to a high-born woman was the only way to rid himself of it.
Vidar’s proclamation shouldn’t have come as a shock, but it did. When he’d first arrived in Alvey and sworn his oath, the Jarl had spoken privately to him about arranging a marriage. At the time, Aevir had accepted it as the next necessary phase of his life. He’d never expected it to happen so soon.
‘Aevir?’ Jarl Vidar’s voice broke through his hesitation. ‘You don’t seem pleased.’
Aevir shook his head. ‘I’m very pleased, merely surprised. Who is the woman?’
He knew that he had failed to appear happy when two identical creases formed between the Jarl’s brows. Leaning forward and lowering his voice, Jarl Vidar said, ‘I know that you were married once before. I understand if you want to wait—’
‘Nay.’ An image of the only wife of his heart flashed through Aevir’s mind. She was laughing at him after he’d slipped on the frozen lake helping to carry a swine to her home. It was the first time he had met her and still how he imagined her during the very rare times he allowed his thoughts to drift that way. He refused to think of her now and forcefully returned her memory to the confines of his heart. His first marriage had been for love; his next would be for status and nothing more. ‘Thank you, Jarl, but waiting isn’t necessary. Who is to be my...?’ He couldn’t say wife. He wouldn’t. ‘Who am I to marry?’
‘Her name is Annis. She is a Saxon relation of my brother Eirik. Her father was a powerful Saxon, he still is, though he operates under Eirik’s rule. The family is a relation of the Northumbrian King Ecgberht, so the marriage will come with a small portion of land.’
‘Not in Alvey?’
The Jarl shook his head. ‘Nay, south, but not as far as Eirik’s land. You’ll essentially oversee the territory between. I had thought to offer the position to Rolfe, but it wasn’t a good fit because he prefers to stay in Alvey.’ He grinned and added, ‘He also seems to prefer Elswyth. The arrangement is much more suitable to a man of your ambition.’
The match was a good one. Aevir would hold a strong position and have access to those who governed. He could marry this unknown woman and keep her at a distance, consummate their marriage and allow her to lead a separate life from him. He could continue wielding his sword while she stayed at home. Depending on her view of the Danes, she might even prefer to live with her family over him. That arrangement was the type he had imagined when he decided that another marriage was necessary for him to achieve his goals.
‘It is a good match. What do you know of this Annis?’
Jarl Vidar smiled. ‘Last time I saw her she was a child, but that was years ago and she’s bound to have grown a bit.’
A bitter taste rose in the back of his throat. He had no liking for child-brides, or women who were forced to marry. ‘Then the girl is an innocent?’
‘Nay, she’s a widow. Her husband, a Saxon, died recently and there were no children.’
Somehow that seemed better. Perhaps she mourned her husband still and wouldn’t expect much from her new one. Still, having the reality of it before him made dread settle like a lead weight in his belly. His gaze found Ellan, her smile bright in the sea of cheers and clapping around her. Just looking upon her warmed something long grown cold within him. He hadn’t realised until this moment that the promise of more with her had started to bud inside his chest. He was forced to rip it out by the roots, for it was a ridiculous notion. Aside from the fact that he suspected she was in Alvey for duplicitous reasons, the truth was that she was a simple farm girl who could not give him the status he craved.
‘When do you think a wedding can be arranged?’ he asked.
Jarl Vidar grinned, apparently convinced of Aevir’s enthusiasm. ‘You’ll meet her after the spring thaw. You can be married soon after. We’ll travel down together, assuming this mess with the Scots allows it.’
Aevir forced himself to smile, but it felt wooden and awkward. It was hardly more than a twitch of his lips. The Jarl seemed content with the outcome, however, and leaned forward to clasp his arm. Aevir stayed a moment to accept the good wishes of the men around him before excusing himself for the evening.
Sensing that it was now or never, he intended to persuade Ellan to spend the rest of the night with him. He was leaving to patrol the northern border in the morning and could spare one night to know what it was like to lose himself inside her. From the way she had proclaimed it her right to kiss whomever she wanted, he imagined she wasn’t quite as innocent as the Jarl believed. Because Rolfe had married her sister, Aevir had begun to suspect the proclamation was simply to ensure her safety. She wasn’t actually a blood relative to the man, so any punishment for touching her would likely be in the form of a fine. It was a price he was willing to pay to be with her.
He immediately looked for Ellan again and his heart stuttered when he couldn’t find her dancing. Lady Gwendolyn and the other women laughed and held hands as they turned in a circle, but there was no Ellan.
Pushing his way through the crowd, he opened the door and hurried out into the cold night, genuinely concerned that a man might have taken her. The mead had flowed easily tonight and the wedding had made many of the men more eager than usual, himself included. The yard was deserted as almost everyone was packed inside the hall. Some had already sought their beds for the night, but it was too cold to linger outside. A light rustling of fabric had him walking around the corner of the hall to see her leaning back against the side, her face raised to the night air. Several strands of hair had fallen from her braid and the crown of ivy she wore tilted to the side, but somehow the dishevelment only made her more beautiful. There was a tightening deep in his belly as he watched her and that more than his conversation with Jarl Vidar made his voice harsh when he asked, ‘What are you doing out here?’
Her eyes widened as she opened them. ‘Aevir! You frightened me.’
He almost despised how much he wanted her. The sentiment did nothing to soften the tone of his voice. ‘It’s not safe for you out here alone.’
His tone seemed to startle her for a moment, but she quickly, gathered her wits and gave him a hesitant smile. ‘But I’m not alone...you’re here now.’
Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with exertion. A fine mist of sweat shimmered on her face, making him ache to taste the salt of her skin. ‘And why do you think that makes you any safer?’ Somehow, he had drifted closer so that he stood directly in front of her. The mead seemed to dull everything around them while bringing her into sharp clarity before him.
She looked up at him and said with perfect innocence, ‘Because I know that you wouldn’t harm me.’
Her bottom lip was plump and moist, causing him to remember how she had kissed him back in the larder. ‘You’re right. Pleasure is so much better.’
His palms pressed into the coarse wood at her back on either side of her. He felt like a moth must feel being drawn to the flame that would surely destroy it, but being powerless to resist its beauty.
She gasped as if only now grasping the particular danger she was in and her hands came up to rest on his chest. She didn’t push him away, however. ‘You know that Lord Vidar wouldn’t allow...’ She swallowed audibly and seemed unable to finish her thought.
All instinct now, he leaned down so that his mouth nearly brushed her ear. Her scent overwhelmed his senses, causing his body to clench with arousal that made him feel drunk as it swept through him. ‘Come to bed with me, Ellan.’
‘Aevir,’ she whispered her outrage, but when her gaze met his he could see the answer to his arousal in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips.
The promise of gratification pulsed through him. He could take her here against the wall if he wanted, but it wouldn’t do. She deserved a bed and he deserved an entire night to purge her from his mind.
‘Ellan!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s slightly breathless and alarmed voice filled the night. ‘Are you out here?’ Sounds of merriment came through the open doorway of the hall.
Ellan’s wide eyes met his and she gave a regretful shake of her head before ducking underneath his arm to flee. ‘I’m here. It was stuffy inside, so I came out to get some cool air,’ she said as she rounded the corner.
Lady Gwendolyn’s reply was lost as they walked inside and closed the door behind them. He let his forehead drop against the rough wooden wall and released a breath of frustration. Half of him thanked the gods for intervening before he made his obsession with her worse, while the other half wanted to sling her over his shoulder and take her off to his bed where he would spend the rest of the night with her legs wrapped around his waist.
Finally, he took in a deep breath and straightened. The cool air into his lungs brought the return of clarity and rational thought. It was good that they had been interrupted. He shouldn’t have been willing to risk the Jarl’s ire to be with her for a night. Tomorrow he would return to the northern border as planned to help quell the threat from the Scots and he vowed to forget the girl who had bewitched him.
Chapter Two (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Ellan’s father arrived a sennight later to collect her. His arrival wasn’t unexpected, but Ellan hadn’t realised how much she had hoped that he had simply forgotten her until word arrived that he was there. Pulling her shoulders back, she forced a courage she didn’t feel and stepped through the front gate to greet him, leaving the safety of Alvey’s walls behind her. Temporarily.
She would confront her father, tell him in no uncertain terms that she was staying in Alvey and return to the tiny alcove above the hall that had been her home for the last several months. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to fathom the conversation having any other ending. If she dared to think it might, then she might succumb to despair and that wouldn’t do. Returning to Banford was akin to death as far as she was concerned. There was no life for her there.
She would stay here and find the same happiness that Elswyth had found with Rolfe. Their courtship and wedding had been so fast and unexpected that Ellan still had trouble believing it had happened. Of course, some of that might be because she spent her days obsessing over Aevir and her nights reliving the scarce moments they had had together. Even her memories of her sister’s wedding were coloured with visions of how handsome Aevir had looked in his finery.
If only Father hadn’t arrived at night, or if he had at least deigned to camp withinthe safety of the fortress’s walls instead of outside them, she might feel a little braver. A glance to the night sky revealed not even a single star to light the way. She shivered at the ominous darkness and pulled her cloak even tighter around her shoulders.
The overflow of Dane warriors who now resided in Alvey—their numbers far too large to be contained within the walls—were camped nearby. Their fires made a wide trail of light from the walls to the forest in the distance and their tents flickered pale in shafts of moonlight. In some ways, she would feel safer going in that direction, but she turned towards the small fire set away from the others. Her father was too proud to seek sanctuary with the people he viewed as his enemy.
His wiry frame leaned over a spit roasting what looked to be a rabbit. As she approached, he moved away from it and stood. Even from this distance she could tell that he was glaring at her with disapproval. It was the same expression he always wore when he looked at her. If there had been a time when he’d gazed upon her with love and understanding, she couldn’t remember it. Since Mother had run away years ago, there had been only grave censure and a suspicion that she would betray the family in some way as well. After all, she had the look of her mother and the heart of a woman. Betrayal was all but assured.
He waited for her to step into the meagre light given off by the fire, then he said, ‘You will marry in a sennight.’
Though she had done everything she could to prepare herself for this moment, his first words to her after months of separation still caused a zing of pain to dart through her. There were no tender words of greeting. No declaration of how he’d missed her, only the harsh announcement. She was a burden to be disposed of, not a beloved daughter to be welcomed with open arms.
Again, an image of Aevir came to mind. He had come back to Alvey only hours ago, but he had been too busy conferring with Rolfe and Lord Vidar about a skirmish with the Scots to look her way. If only marrying him were an option.
‘You’ve found someone to take me off your hands at last.’ She tried for irreverent, but her tone fell flat. ‘A Saxon?’
Light from Father’s campfire flickered in the deep shadows of night, casting hollows and jagged lines across the weathered planes of his unforgiving expression.
She shouldn’t have been surprised by his words. Threats of marriage had been hovering over her head like a sickle poised to descend on a fresh patch of wheat for the past year. The only difference this time was that the promise had never been quite so specific. So ripe with certainty and malice. This was real. He’d made a deal with some unknown man and it didn’t particularly matter if she approved of his choice or not. He’d foist her off to become someone else’s responsibility.
His lips twisted in a grin that made him look rather like a growling mongrel. ‘Your lady may have lowered herself to marry a heathen Dane, but you will not.’
Father was a proud Saxon who would rather fight the invading Danes than accept peace with them. When he’d found out that Lady Gwendolyn had married Lord Vidar, he’d said that he’d sooner his daughters be dead than married to the barbarians. It didn’t matter that Lady Gwendolyn had done it to foster peace between her beloved Saxons and the invading Norsemen, he hated her regardless. Rumours even claimed that he’d started meeting with the Scots to plot against Alvey. Whether or not those rumours were true, Ellan didn’t know.
Her gaze instinctively drifted back to the comforting presence of Alvey’s walls looming behind her. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she said, ‘I would choose my own husband.’
‘You belong to me until you’re married. You’ll do as I say.’
Her lips parted, but there were no words to combat his callousness. The jagged edges of his statement reached inside her, scooping out her heart and leaving a black, gaping hole behind. With nothing to warm it, her blood chilled. A shiver threatened to tear through her and rattle her teeth, but she held it back by clenching her jaw so hard the bone ached. Her composure was her only defence. He couldn’t see how terrified she was or how he’d hurt her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘Then who is to be my husband?’ She couldn’t resist a quick glance at her older brother, Galan, who had come to stand beside Father on the other side of the campfire. His face was impassive in the shadows of the night. She wanted to ask him if he approved of this marriage, but she held her tongue and swallowed down the bitter taste of his betrayal.
Father gave a barely imperceptible shake of his head. ‘You will meet him soon enough.’
‘So he’s not from Banford?’
He shook his head again and looked away. ‘Nay, I’ve come from his village directly after arranging the agreement.’
If it were left up to him, she probably wouldn’t meet her groom until the wedding. Her father would deliver her in a grain sack, dropping her off like goods if common decency allowed him to get away with it. Thankfully it wasn’t up to him. It was up to her and she wasn’t marrying anyone he bid her to wed. Not if she could help it. She’d already decided that Alvey would be her new home and this only firmed her decision. Her task now was to get back inside before he forced her to disappear into the night with him. Then she would have to convince Lord Vidar and Lady Gwendolyn to take her side in the matter, but she would confront that in the morning.
Making a concerted effort to keep her voice stable, she said, ‘Then I’ll look forward to meeting him.’ It was the wrong thing to say. Father’s gaze narrowed in doubt. She had never once even hinted that she might welcome a marriage he arranged for her, so of course playing along now would rouse suspicion.
‘Good to see you again, Ellan. You’ve been missed.’ Galan stepped around the fire, seeming determined to end the tension between the two of them, and pulled her into a hug. For a brief moment she allowed herself to find comfort in his strong embrace. Galan had been the one she had always run to with a skinned knee or when a splinter needed removing. It was sad to know that he wouldn’t step in to help her now. He’d been poisoned by their father’s hatred.
‘And you as well,’ she said, stepping away lest her defences crumble completely.
‘We’ll be leaving in the morning for Banford,’ Father said.
‘Elswyth as well?’ Elswyth loved her husband too much to leave him.
‘Aye, Elswyth, too.’ Father’s voice was a little too proud, making it sound forced. He wasn’t certain of that at all.
‘Is that what she said?’ Ellan couldn’t help but ask. Elswyth had come out to talk to him earlier.
He sniffed. ‘She’ll do as she’s told. She always does.’ His eyes narrowed and she had to force herself to appear meek. He couldn’t suspect that she intended to rebel and stay in Alvey or she’d never make it back inside. And her only real chance of not leaving with him was to go back inside now.
She had made a grave error in coming out to speak with her family. Her father could take her now and disappear into the night with her if he chose. She instinctively took a step backward towards Alvey. The Danes chatted and roughhoused in the distance at their campfires, but they wouldn’t help her. No man would step between a father and his rightful claim on his daughter. No man but Lord Vidar. She hoped.
‘If we’re to leave at daybreak, then I should go back inside and collect our things,’ Ellan said.
‘There’s nothing you need from Alvey,’ Father said.
Her thoughts collided as she sensed his intention was to not allow her to go back inside. What a stupid mistake. She’d come out here because of her terrible need to win some sort of approval from her father. She realised now that she had wanted to see him and have him open his arms to her as Galan had done, but it had been a ridiculous fantasy. He didn’t care for her and he never would.
‘There’s not much, but Lady Gwendolyn gifted us each with a fine golden bracelet. They have a small value that might prove useful,’ she said.
There were no bracelets, but she could feel the weight of the prison Father carried around with him closing in on her and she would have said anything to escape. When his eyes glimmered with interest, she knew that she had won. If the talk of his joining with the Scots was true—and she was almost certain that it was, based on his reaction—then he’d need the gold to buy weapons.
He gave a curt nod and she turned blindly, nearly overcome with relief as she made her way back to the walls. Restored to her, her heart beat furiously, pushing blood through her body almost faster than her limbs could accept it. She felt light-headed while her knees were heavy, as if she were walking through ankle-deep mud. The open gate loomed before her like a beacon of hope, guiding her steps in a path that seemed to take for ever.
She only breathed again when she stepped through. None of the Saxons or Danes on guard seemed to notice her. The yard was still filled with men at this late hour. The usual excitement of Alvey crackled through the air, but instead of invigorating her, it drained her. Her shoulders shook from the effort of keeping her posture and her legs had now turned to water. She groped at the wall for support, the cold stone biting into the bare skin of her palm, and she welcomed the discomfort.
She would never leave Alvey again if she could help it. The question was: would she have a choice? If Lord Vidar decided that giving her over to her father would be justified, then she would have to go. Disobeying could mean punishment, or—more probable—he’d simply deliver her to her father bound if necessary.
‘Ellan.’ A smooth, deep voice called to her.
Aevir walked through the crowd, emerging into the light cast by a nearby torch. He walked like a man in charge, confident that no one would stand between him and his goal, and indeed the warriors moved out of the way for him. He was dressed as he usually was in rich fabrics that showed little wear, which somehow made her overly mindful of the fraying edges of her own tunic. A strange sense of relief moved through her even as a fluttering began in her belly.
‘Aevir?’ She grimaced at the breathless tone of her voice. She wasn’t quite certain what to make of their last encounter. Because he hadn’t bothered to acknowledge her since his return, she half-believed that he might not even remember it.
He looked out the open gates as he passed them, as if sensing the danger to her out there before he came to a stop in front of her. He carried with him the scents of the outdoors: evergreens, the crisp freshness of new snow and the faint hint of woodsmoke, while underneath was layered a richer spice she couldn’t name. It never failed to make her long to bury her face in his neck until she breathed in her fill.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked with a neutral expression. The thick, blonde strands of hair around his face were secured back at the crown of his head, but the rest hung to his shoulders.
‘I spoke with my father.’ She gave a shrug towards the gates and pulled her cloak tighter around her, disliking the way she responded to him, but unable to stop the reaction. When he was near it was as if she forgot how to think. She’d tripped over her own feet and misjudged the distance between a pitcher and tankard on more than one occasion in his presence. He probably thought she was a dolt. It was his eyes, she’d decided. A blue so light they might pass for grey, they seemed to look directly into her soul and see far more than she wanted them to.
His gaze roamed over her face in a slow glide that did strange and wonderful things to her belly. ‘What did Godric say to you?’ His voice seemed tinged with a suspicion she didn’t understand.
‘The usual. Saxons are good, Danes are bad.’ His lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. ‘He wants us to go home to Banford in the morning,’ she added.
He sighed and the warmth of his breath ruffled her hair across the small distance between them. ‘Then this is goodbye?’
Something was odd about him tonight. ‘I hope not,’ she answered with a bit more honesty than she had intended.
As he let out a soft breath, his gaze met hers. His eyes had deepened, becoming intense, and his stare lingered on her mouth. Almost as heated as how he had looked at her outside the hall. ‘What do you want, Ellan?’
His well-formed lips curved upwards, revealing even, white teeth and creases at the corners of his eyes. It made him look more human than godlike with an earthy attractiveness. Not once in her entire life had she ever felt this mindless infatuation for anyone else.
The memory of their kiss tried to take over, but she shook it off to say, ‘I want to stay here.’
‘Really?’ He seemed surprised as his head tilted to the side a little. His gaze had turned discerning. ‘How will you thwart him?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll speak with Lady Gwendolyn. I’m certain she’ll allow me to stay.’ If only she were as confident as she sounded.
‘She might want you to stay,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but don’t you think your father will insist? Will she go against his wishes and risk angering even more Saxons?’
It was the same question she asked herself. Swallowing down her panic, she said, ‘I don’t know. I do know that she frowns upon women being forced to wed. Her own forced marriage turned out well for her, but she doesn’t approve of the practice. She’ll at least speak with him on my behalf.’
‘Forced marriage? Has Godric arranged a marriage for you?’ Lines formed between his brows. She wanted to believe that his interest in her prospective marriage was personal, but she didn’t think whatever was between them would inspire such concern.
‘Aye, but he wouldn’t tell me the man’s name.’
‘Why would he not tell you? Are you not close to your father, Ellan?
Perhaps it was the stress of the evening, or simply the way she felt safe in Aevir’s presence, but something made her tell him more than she should. ‘To say that I am not his favourite daughter would be a great understatement. He simply wants to be rid of the burden I bring him.’
‘He doesn’t like daughters?’
‘He likes Elswyth well enough...or he did before she married a Dane. It’s only me that he despises.’ She shook her head, feeling heat creep up her chest because she had revealed her deepest shame with very little prompting from him. ‘It doesn’t matter. He can’t make me go through with it.’
‘You’re certain?’ He didn’t sound convinced.
Nay, she wasn’t certain at all and that was the problem. In all probability she would be married to this unknown Saxon in a sennight. Her mind raced for a way out.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression becoming neutral and guarded again. ‘You could always do as your sister has done. Marry someone else and your father has no control over you.’
Everything inside her came to a shuddering stop. Lord Vidar would never take Elswyth from Rolfe and send her home with Father. No man would come between a husband and his wife. It was so perfect she wanted to kiss Aevir, but managed to hold that unruly impulse in check. ‘You’re right. I can marry without his approval. Father won’t have any control over me then.’
His stare didn’t waver as he seemed to be attempting to read her expression. Suspicion still clouded his eyes, but when he finally spoke, he asked, ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’
‘A Dane. Someone who won’t fall under my father’s influence.’
‘Any Dane will do?’ he asked. His eyes narrowed and dipped back to her mouth.
Her heart pounded in her head. Realistically, she knew that Aevir would never offer for her. She had no wealth or status to bring to a warrior who commanded his own small army of men. Yet, when she thought of taking a husband, he was the one she wanted.
Would it really be so out of the question? Elswyth had married Rolfe, who commanded the entire Norse division of Lord Vidar’s army. Rolfe didn’t seem to mind that she brought him nothing but herself. It was true that Ellan barely knew Aevir, but she would hardly know anything about any other man she chose so quickly.
If she didn’t ask, then she would never know. Taking in a ragged breath, she gave him a tremulous smile and tried to make her words come out light and teasing. ‘I do not suppose that you are looking for a wife?’
Chapter Three (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
A fierce wave of protectiveness overcame Aevir. It was so sudden that it staggered him, forcing him to take a step back from the lovely green eyes staring up at him with such a tender plea in their depths. The eyes of a girl who could potentially be in league with Godric’s hatred towards them, he forced himself to remember. A girl Aevir should not want nearly as much as he did.
‘I cannot marry you,’ he said.
Her smile widened, surprising him. ‘Ah, then I suppose I’ll be forced to find another.’ She shrugged and made a show of looking towards the warriors moving about behind him as if she had expected him to refuse her all along.
Was she really that determined to thwart her father’s wishes or was this some elaborate trick to get close to a Dane warrior? He couldn’t decide. He, who had made his living from his ability to size up his opponents and potential employers, couldn’t determine if the girl before him was authentic. He couldn’t look past his desire for her to see the truth and it made her dangerous to him. Rolfe didn’t seem to think the sisters were a threat. He had told Aevir in no uncertain terms that the girls were as much victims of their father’s hatred as the Danes. Perhaps he was right and Aevir simply wanted her to be a spy so that he could rid himself of his fascination with her.
Giving her a nod, he went to turn away. Let her deal with her own problems. She was not his concern. Except as he turned, his gaze fell to her mouth one final time and he saw that her lips were trembling. Her eyes were unnaturally bright in the torchlight, unshed tears flickering in the shadowed night.
Odin save him, he wanted to help her.
Nay, the pure and undiluted truth was that he simply wanted her. Before he realised what he was doing to stop himself, he palmed her jaw, gently stroking her lush bottom lip with his thumb. Her mouth was as soft and warm as he remembered. He half-expected her to pull away, but she simply stared up at him, mute in her misery.
Why did that misery twist something deep inside him?
‘I can help you another way.’
‘How?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Part of him wanted her to refuse him. A bigger part of him thrilled that she might accept him. ‘Become my concubine.’
Her lips parted in shock and he forced himself to stop touching her lest he take her mouth beneath his.
‘Lord Vidar will hardly allow... Father would... I...’ Her gaze dropped to the ground and she crossed her arms beneath her cloak, pulling it tight around her shoulders.
She wasn’t the type of woman to become a warrior’s concubine. She wasn’t sophisticated or particularly wise in the ways of the world. Her life had revolved around her farm and village until she had come to Alvey. Good sense demanded that he rescind the offer, but he couldn’t. The need to have her was too great. ‘Is it such a shock? You know that I want you.’
She glanced at him, her eyes taking in his torso and drifting downwards until she realised what she was doing and looked away again. She wanted him, too. Whether she admitted it to herself or not, she was tempted to accept his offer.
‘I’m not certain that I understand.’ She whispered now, as if worried they might be overheard. ‘How would the arrangement help me?’
‘You would be under my protection. I would compensate Godric so that he would not force a marriage on you. You would stay in Alvey until I make my home elsewhere.’
‘And I would...?’ She swallowed visibly. ‘I would...?’
‘Share my bed, see to the care of my clothing and supplies, all the things a wife would do. In return I would provide for you and protect you.’
‘And what about after?’ She finally looked back up, meeting his eyes.
‘After?’
‘I believe that such arrangements are not permanent.’ It was too dark to see clearly, but he would have sworn her face had reddened.
The truth was that he hadn’t thought that far into the future and he’d never kept a woman beyond several weeks before. This would be something new for him. Shrugging, he said, ‘I would reward you for your loyalty and leave you with enough to see you well until...’
‘Until I find another protector.’
He gave a short nod, not at all liking the thought of her with another man. By the time that happened, however, he would likely have tired of her.
After a pause, she said, ‘Lord Vidar would never allow it.’
He shook his head. ‘He might not prefer it, but he would relent.’
Aevir was certain that he could gain the Jarl’s cooperation as long as her father and betrothed were compensated. They would be the biggest hurdle to the arrangement and he wasn’t at all certain he could overcome their objections. But he was willing to try...for her.
‘Aevir,’ she said and then paused to take in a breath. ‘I believe you know that I... I favour you very much.’
Her gaze dipped as she admitted that and the urge to crush her to him was nearly overwhelming. Instead, he grinned and said, ‘I know that you do. Give me an hour in my bed and you’ll have no more hesitation.’ He had no doubt that he’d overcome any objection she had.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. ‘If your kiss is any indication, then I believe you. But I’m afraid it’s only a temporary solution. Once our arrangement ended, I’d be back in this position.’
‘How?’
‘My family would disown me if I accepted such an arrangement, leaving me obliged to accept the suit of any man who offered. What if there were no other man I favoured?’
‘I would hardly leave you destitute. You would receive a generous settlement,’ he explained.
Her face jerked to the left as if something about that had hurt her. ‘You speak of it so coldly.’
He let his fingertips come to rest on her cheek, unable to keep himself from her. ‘There would be no coldness between us, Ellan,’ he whispered.
‘Nay, I know that,’ she said, her gaze coming to rest on his. He only realised then how much closer he had moved towards her. Her breath touched his. ‘And that’s my fear. It would be too devastating in the end.’
He wanted to kiss her, to reassure her in some way, but he couldn’t. His heart pounded and blood rushed in his ears. She was right. It was why he should turn away right now and leave her behind. ‘Ellan...’
Something shifted in her eyes and she straightened her spine. His fingers dropped to his side. ‘Thank you for your generous offer,’ she said. ‘But I find that I would prefer marriage and the permanent security it would provide.’
It was no less than he had expected, but still the bitter tang of disappointment touched the back of his tongue. He meant to leave it, instead he said, ‘The offer is open if you change your mind.’
Her lips parted, but no words came out. He took advantage of her loss of words to ask what he should have asked before offering her the position of his concubine. Questions he had meant to ask when he found out she had spoken to Godric. The fact that he was willing to have her regardless of that potential threat was testament to how far he had fallen under her spell. The pull she had on him was nearly irresistible and he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t know her, but it felt like he was supposed to know her.
‘You’ve heard the rumours about your father plotting with the Scots?’ At her nod, he continued, ‘Do you know anything about that?’
‘Nay.’ She gave him a bitter smile. ‘Believe me when I say that I would be the last person he told if he was involved with the Scots.’
If what she said about her relationship with her father was true, then he could believe that. Still, he pressed onwards, looking for some point of weakness in her assertion. ‘But do you suspect that he would?’
The conflict she suffered was plain on her face. ‘I’m not certain. I suspect that he’d go to any length to fight you. He despised the Danes before...but his hatred deepened when my mother ran off with one.’
‘Ah.’ It was a piece of the puzzle he’d yet to place about Godric’s supposed rebellion. ‘I suspected his hatred ran deeper than that of a warrior fighting for his home. When did she leave?’
‘I was a child still.’
The shadowed look that came over her face told him there was much more to the story, but he wouldn’t press. The less her knew about her personally, the better it would be for both of them. He had begun to suspect that being near her would affect him far greater than he had originally intended.
‘A man from your village, Osric, was found meeting with the Scots a few days ago. Many see this as evidence that your father is involved, too. What do you think?’ He stared at her face, looking for any signs of lying.
‘Osric wouldn’t have approached the Scots on his own, but what you’re saying is...well, it would mean Father is guilty of treason. Do you think Father would do that?’ The distress on her face looked very real.
‘I don’t know Godric well enough to say with certainty.’ But he would have bet everything he owned on the fact that the man was involved with them. He was less certain about the man’s daughters, however. ‘He’ll be questioned about his involvement very soon and then we’ll know the truth.’
She seemed unsettled, but there was nothing about her expression that suggested complicity. Perhaps Rolfe was right about the sisters after all.
‘I should get inside.’
He nodded and stepped to the side. ‘Goodnight, Ellan.’ She murmured a reply and hurried away towards the hall. He didn’t say it, but if Godric was found guilty, then Rolfe or even Jarl Vidar would become her new guardian. There was every chance that her betrothal would be cancelled. If she spent the winter in Alvey, Aevir knew that he would have her in his bed before the spring thaw.
Before he had to leave to marry his own Saxon.
* * *
Ellan hurried to the alcove bedchamber she had shared with Elswyth until her sister’s marriage only days ago. It was a tiny space that held a narrow bed, a small table and a stool. Once, Ellan had thought it tiny and cramped, but it had seemed vast and lonely ever since Elswyth had moved to Rolfe’s chamber. She hadn’t realised how she would miss her sister’s calm and reassuring presence until she was no longer there every night. How Ellan wished that Elswyth was there now. She would crawl into bed and pull the blanket over them both as she told her what Father had said. Perhaps she would even share with her Aevir’s shocking proposal.
A curtain separated the alcove from the rest of the upstairs area. Ellan went to tie it closed behind her and let her gaze linger on the shut door of her sister’s room. The need to talk to her was nearly overwhelming, but Ellan managed to control it. Elswyth was married now. Not only that, but she had had her own confrontation with Father tonight about her marriage. She needed time alone with Rolfe.
A feeling of dread had settled in the pit of her stomach since Elswyth’s wedding. At first, Ellan had been ashamed of herself for being anything but happy for her sister. Now, as the hollow grew bigger, she understood what the feeling was. It was fear that she was losing the one person she had always been able to trust.
The one person who loved her.
Blinking against the sting of tears, she tied the curtain closed and went through the motions of changing into her nightdress and taking down her hair before plopping down on the bed and curling up under her blanket. Times like this made her miss her mother. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, lay very still and tried very hard, she could almost remember the weight of her mother’s hand on her head, stroking her hair as she fell asleep. Ellan was never quite certain if it was an actual memory or something she had made up to comfort herself as a child.
What would her mother tell her to do? Unfortunately, she hadn’t known her well enough to say. What would Elswyth say? She had a sinking feeling that her sister would advise her to marry the man Father wanted her to marry. Ellan couldn’t shake the feeling that this man would be hardly better than Father in his opinions of the Danes. In her time serving Lady Gwendolyn, Ellan had grown close to her. She couldn’t imagine submitting to a marriage that would see her on the other side of a potential Saxon/Dane battle in Alvey. Father was wrong in his hatred.
Was Aevir right in that Father could be taken prisoner soon? Would that mean the betrothal wasn’t valid? Should she take Aevir up on his offer in case it was?
Heat swept through her at that thought. Deep down inside herself in a place she hardly knew existed, she hadn’t found Aevir’s proposition to be abhorrent. She wanted marriage and a family of her own...but she also wanted to know what it would be like to lie with him. To be protected by him. To belong to him.
Pulling the blanket up to hide her face from her wicked thoughts, she tried to drive the memory of his intense stare from her head. It didn’t work. Being alone made him much more vivid in her mind. The way he had towered over her outside the hall after Elswyth’s wedding, for instance. Had he been someone else she might have felt intimidated or even afraid, but because it was him she had felt protected, even cared for, though that sentiment was absurd. He wanted her in his bed, not his heart. She wasn’t a complete dolt when it came to men.
Why then did she feel this inexplicable draw to him and the promise of more lurking beneath the surface?
That thought, along with those of her uncertain future, left her unable to find a peaceful sleep. When she finally drifted off it was to unsettling dreams of both her father and Aevir.
* * *
It seemed that she had only just found sleep when strange sounds from below brought her awake. She lay in her bed for a moment, wondering if she had imagined them.
Nay, they were real. Several voices from the main room rose up to where she slept. They were urgent, but she was too groggy to untangle the meaning of the Norse words. Boots hurried across the floor, moving back and forth. Something was wrong. It couldn’t be morning yet.
Her eyes felt grainy as she rubbed them and sat up to untie the curtain. Danes were below, appearing to finish a quick meal of pottage and leftovers from the night before. The door to the outside opened, revealing a sliver of dark grey as a warrior hurried out. It was too early in the morning for this much activity.
Grabbing her blanket, she wrapped it around herself as she hurried to Elswyth’s room. When no one answered her knock, she pushed it open to find that the room was empty. Her heart sank as a heavy feeling overcame her. Something was dreadfully wrong. Perhaps Father had taken off with Elswyth. She could think of no other reason her sister wouldn’t be in her bed at this hour.
The need to know sent her hurrying to the chamber Lady Gwendolyn shared with her husband. The door was cracked, so she pushed it open.
‘Lady Gwendolyn?’
A serving girl sat just inside the room, bringing a finger to her lips for quiet and glancing towards where their baby, Tova, slept.
‘Do you know what’s happening?’ Ellan whispered.
The girl shook her head and closed the distance between them. ‘Nay, the Lady sent for me only moments ago. I believe she’s at the stables with Lord Vidar.’
Her worst fear was confirmed—why else would they be at the stables at this hour? Ellan thanked her and hurried down the stairs to the main room. Men scurried around as they finished their meal and donned their armour. Much fewer now than a few moments ago when she had first looked down. Most of them seemed to be outside—she could hear the horses being brought out, their hooves stamping the frozen morning earth.
Fear thrummed through her veins as she thought of her sister being forced from the man she loved. Had Ellan done this? Would it have happened if she had stayed with Father last night and agreed to leave with him?
From the corner of her eye she caught a movement that seemed familiar. Aevir stood beside a table, a bowl in front of him with the dregs of his quickly eaten meal, stuffing a pouch with more food. He wore the leather tunic he always wore when he was travelling, except he was also wearing chainmail. His sword was at his side, ready to be strapped to his back.
‘Aevir, you’re leaving?’ She hurried to his side.
He glanced at her, sparing a moment to take in the fact that she wore only a nightdress and a blanket. No doubt her hair was a mess from her unsettled sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about that at the moment. Going back to packing the food away, he said, ‘I’m tasked with putting an end to the Scots trespassing once and for all.’ At her puzzled look, he explained, ‘We’ve received word that Scots were sighted between here and Banford.’
Relief swept through her and she nearly sat down as a breath left her body. This was nothing to do with her sister and Father after all. ‘Oh, I thought...’
He paused and his gaze settled on her face. ‘What?’
Shaking her head, she gave a half-hearted smile and said, ‘It doesn’t matter. Travel safely. I’m certain of your victory.’
He flashed her a grin that made her belly flip pleasantly as he closed the flap on the pouch and tied it off. ‘I’m glad to have your confidence.’
‘Will you come back?’
He shook his head. ‘Not for a bit. After finding the trespassers, my men and I will guard the border until deep winter sets in.’
This might very well be the last time she saw him with her future so uncertain. She wasn’t sure where she would be in a few weeks. A sense of loss welled inside her. She wanted to say something profound, something that would let him know her feelings, except her feelings were that of an infatuated farm girl and would probably be an embarrassment to them both.
‘Have you seen Elswyth?’ she asked instead.
His brow furrowed as he ducked into the long strap attached to the pouch, leaving it to rest at his hip. ‘No one has told you?’ he asked.
Shaking her head, she said, ‘You were the first person I spoke with since coming downstairs. What has happened?’ She found herself grabbing his forearm, as if holding tight to him could keep anything bad away. ‘Has Father taken her?’
‘Nay. Ellan...your sister has left.’
Chapter Four (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
‘What do you mean, Elswyth has left? Where has she gone?’ Ellan’s face had grown pale with terror.
Taking gentle hold of her upper arms through the blanket to help soothe her, he kept his voice calm. ‘It seems that she took a horse around midnight and rode north. We only found out a little while ago.’
‘Why would she leave?’ Her eyes were wide as she implored him for answers.
‘You know that she and Osric were close. Rolfe believes that she is heading to Banford. Perhaps to see his family and try to discern why he had been meeting with the Scots for herself.’
‘But you just said that the Scots were seen. What if they come across her? What if...?’ Her lips fell still around the words that she couldn’t seem to bring herself to say. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling out when she closed them. ‘Aevir, they could take her.’
Staring down into her face, twisted with both fear and anguish, he was forced to re-evaluate his initial suspicion about the sisters. For there was no doubt that Ellan’s feelings were real and, if she was so afraid for her sister’s fate at the hands of the Scots, then it must mean that they were her enemies as well. Would she be so afraid if she secretly thought them to be allies? ‘We will find her, Ellan.’
She shook her head fiercely as if that were not enough. Perhaps it wasn’t. ‘You don’t understand. Elswyth is the only person I have. She’s...she’s everything to me. If I lose her, I’ll be al—’ She meant to say alone but she stopped before the word came out, making something in his chest twist painfully. ‘I can’t lose her—’ She broke off and swallowed as if the effort to talk had become too painful. She looked lost and alone as she stared up at him and said, ‘She’s all that I have. Aevir, please find her.’
Aevir couldn’t speak. In her eyes he saw the same disconsolate misery he had felt when he had finally allowed himself to understand that Sefa was gone. He opened his mouth to repeat the unbearable nothings that the people around him had said to him.
It will be fine. You will be fine. You are not alone.
But he couldn’t do it. It had been five years and it was not fine. He was not fine and he feared that he never would be again. Her loss had broken something inside him and he didn’t think that it could be fixed. The ability to make any sort of meaningful connection to another had gone. He had fighting and it was the only thing that got him through life.
He could not bring himself to spew the same nothings to Ellan. Not when he knew that she was alone...or she would be if he couldn’t bring Elswyth back to her.
Taking her face between his palms, he stared into her eyes and said the only thing he could think to say that would bring her a measure of relief. He told her the truth. ‘I vow to you that I will find your sister. I will bring her home.’
To his amazement, belief shone in her eyes. She sniffled before throwing herself against his chest. It was too bad he was wearing the chainmail, because he couldn’t feel her softness or her heat the way he wanted. He hesitated, his fingertips touching a strand of hair that glistened gold in the firelight. Having her goodness so close made him brutally aware of the constant pain he harboured. It throbbed to life inside him as if taunted by the unfulfilled promise of her. The anguish he kept captive jerked against its tether like the great striped feline he’d once seen in a Constantinople market. The cat had paced on its huge paws, lunging at anyone who came near, hurting itself as it pulled against the chain binding it. For one mad instant, he wanted a taste of her joy. Like that feline, the beast inside him wanted to lunge for her and lap up every single drop of joy it could drain from her, heedless of how he would hurt her.
He closed his eyes and briefly held her against him, promising himself that it would be only for a moment. The separation from her would give him time to get control of himself again. If he wasn’t careful, she could slip beneath his defences and that could not happen. Letting her close to him in any way that wasn’t purely physical wasn’t an option. It would only hurt them both.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
The words poured out of her over and over, leaving him humbled with her need. An ache welled in his chest, forcing him to grit his teeth and set her away from him. Taking his sword in hand, he didn’t look back as he strapped it across his back and left the hall.
* * *
Ellan heard nothing of her sister’s fate for several days. The waiting had been nearly unbearable. Each moment had passed with fear for her sister and for Aevir twisting her up inside. Lady Gwendolyn tried to soothe them both by keeping them busy. An accomplished archer and warrior in her own right, Lady Gwendolyn spent the days seeing to the fortress’s defences on the chance that the Scots planned to attack after luring so many warriors from the safety of Alvey’s walls. Ellan was at her side, alternating between practising with a bow and arrow—a skill she feared she would never master—and learning about the finer points of planning for the potential of a battle and siege.
The evenings were spent by the fire where they worked on improving Lady Gwendolyn’s embroidery skills. It was something she was determined to master and the one skill in which Ellan felt she excelled, having taken on so much of her family’s care at a young age. She had also found that Father tended to leave her alone if she was hunched over a cloth instead of being underfoot.
Thank goodness he was not a concern that also weighed on her as she waited for word about Elswyth. On the morning of her sister’s disappearance, Father and Galan had also disappeared. Whether they went to find Elswyth or went somewhere else, she didn’t know. She only hoped that it meant the betrothal wasn’t something she had to worry about now.
She and Lady Gwendolyn were both hunched over a particularly intricate piece of embroidery one evening when the horn sounded from the gate. It meant that someone was approaching. Ellan’s heart paused as she waited for the second blow that would indicate that it was an enemy. It didn’t come. Friends approached. It could very well be Rolfe and Lord Vidar returning with Elswyth!
The wait was interminable, but eventually the door of the hall swung open, letting in a blast of cold air and a handful of Danes she recognised, but not one of them was Rolfe or Aevir.
‘Henrik!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s voice filled the space. ‘You have word?’
The man nodded and rushed over to where she stood with Ellan by the fire. He was younger than the men he was with, perhaps her age or only slightly older, but he seemed to be the one in charge. His hair was reddish in colour. ‘Aye. We came across the Scots and there was a skirmish. A few were killed, the rest fled back to Alba.’
‘Injuries on our side?’
He shook his head. ‘Minimal. The Jarl is at the border ensuring its security, while Rolfe and Aevir head to Banford to question the villagers. He suspects that someone there knows something.’
Unable to keep quiet any longer, Ellan asked, ‘What of Elswyth? Was she found?’
The man’s eyes gentled slightly as his gaze shifted to her. ‘She was found with the Scots, but she is safe. Rolfe took her to Banford.’
‘What do you mean she was found with the Scots?’ She placed her hand over her heart lest it beat its way out of her chest.
‘The bastards came across her as she fled. We were able to get her back. She suffered from the cold, but she was alive and uninjured.’
‘What did they do to her?’ she demanded to know more, but Lady Gwendolyn’s gentle hand on her arm silenced her.
Henrik appeared regretful as he said, ‘I do not know more. I was sent here when Rolfe took her north.’
His knowledge was woefully inadequate. He continued to talk to Lady Gwendolyn with details of the skirmish, but Ellan didn’t hear them. What precisely had happened during Elswyth’s time with the Scots? Had she been ravished by the beasts? Ellan’s mind raced with so many awful possibilities that she nearly fell to her knees.
‘I have to go to her.’ Realising that she had addressed the messenger, she turned to Lady Gwendolyn. ‘I must go to her. She needs me.’
To her surprise the messenger stepped forward. ‘Actually, Lord Vidar requested your presence in Banford.’
‘That’s madness.’ Lady Gwendolyn intervened. ‘Ellan can’t leave with the Scots about.’
‘I’m sorry, Lady, but it’s his order. There should be no Scots now. It seems that Godric and Galan have disappeared.’ He fell silent and didn’t say what they all were thinking—that her father and brother must have had something to do with the Scots’ presence on Alvey lands. Their disappearance was suspicious.
Lady Gwendolyn said, ‘Ellan knows nothing of their disappearance.’
Henrik shrugged, looking sheepish. ‘Nevertheless—’
‘It’s fine, Lady Gwendolyn,’ Ellan said. ‘I’ll go and answer his questions. I need to see Elswyth for myself anyway to make certain she is...’ She had meant to say well, but how could one be well after a kidnapping?
Lady Gwendolyn nodded in understanding and put her arm around her. ‘Of course.’
* * *
Ellan left with the contingent of warriors for Banford early the next morning. They took one of the smaller boats that she learned was called a karvi. She was surprised that it was smaller than the other ships the Danes owned. It seemed plenty large to her with around a dozen benches. However, she had never even been on a fishing boat before, so she distrusted the thing.
Henrik held her arm to help her to board. Her knees knocked together after she stepped aboard and felt the sway of the water beneath her.
‘You’ll be fine.’ He smiled in reassurance and she was happy to see that it was a genuine smile and not one born of contempt at her inexperience. ‘Sit here near the middle.’
She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the middle of the ship where she took a seat as the other men practically vaulted over the sides as if they had been born to the vessel. The dozen men took their places both on the benches in front of her and behind her. Two of Lady Gwendolyn’s warriors walked out into the water behind the longship, using their great strength to push them off. The boat glided on the surface of the river and then took off with a jolt as the men took hold of their oars and plunged the paddled ends into the murky water. Her stomach tumbled at the unfamiliar sensation of floating. Tilting her face up to the morning sun, she closed her eyes and imagined this was what a bird must feel when she flew. It was very freeing to have the cool air caressing her cheeks as she floated along with the rhythmic sounds of the oars cutting through the water, taking them closer to Banford with each stroke.
A snickering at her side brought her quickly back down to land. Opening her eyes, she glared at the source. Henrik had taken the seat beside her at mid-ship, the morning sun giving his hair a burnished halo.
‘It wasn’t my intention to disturb you.’ He gave her a crooked grin and it appeared to be friendly rather than impudent.
She nodded and decided to humour him. ‘’Tis my first time on a boat,’ she said, pulling the fur cloak Lady Gwendolyn had loaned her tighter about her shoulders.
‘I can tell. Let me help you. Look.’ He slapped his own shoulder and indicated that she should look at his back. ‘You’re sitting too stiffly. You’ll be sore by midday.’ He softened his shoulders a bit and his back bowed very slightly. ‘If you relax, you can allow yourself to drift with the river and its turns instead of fighting them.’
He was probably making too much of her posture, but placating him wouldn’t cost her anything, so she modelled his pose. Her hips immediately seemed to sink down a bit, making it easier to sway with the motion of the water. ‘It does help. Thank you.’
‘My name is Henrik.’ He smiled again.
‘Aye, I know. You’re one of Aevir’s men. Thank you, Henrik.’
The warrior was wide of shoulder with muscular arms, though he was a bit on the thin side, without the filled-out frame Aevir possessed, probably due to his youth. His nose was well formed and his mouth seemed to perpetually curve in a grin. His eyes were blue with specks of brown and perhaps set a smidge too far apart on his face, but he was still handsome. His beard was short and well kept, except it hadn’t filled in well yet. She gave him what she hoped passed for a smile, though she was still too concerned about Elswyth to feel much joy.
A flicker of interest appeared in his eyes, and his chest puffed out the slightest bit. ‘You’ve noticed me.’
She flushed. It was Aevir she had been busy noticing. She had seen Henrik many times sitting with Aevir or on the sparring field at his side. ‘I...I notice all the newcomers—’
He chuckled and said, ‘I’m only teasing you. I shouldn’t when you’re concerned for your sister.’
She nodded, but couldn’t resist her continued study of the man. No other Dane had been so friendly with her. He couldn’t be more than twenty winters. How old was Aevir, for that matter? Much to her consternation, her mind was able to instantly conjure up a perfect image of Aevir...just as it had every night as she lay in bed trying not to think of him. His face spoke of experience and a hint of bitter knowledge, but he wasn’t old. Perhaps twenty and five or so. Did five years make such a difference in a man? In many ways, Henrik was his complete opposite.
Henrik glanced back down at her and she dropped her gaze, lest she give encouragement to him.
‘Aevir has been kind to take me under his command.’
Realising that this might be an excellent opportunity to learn more about the Danes, as well as to keep her thoughts occupied so she didn’t worry constantly about Elswyth, she forced herself to talk to him and found that he was rather pleasant. Unlike some of the rowdier Danes, he seemed mellow and was easy to converse with. He wasn’t arrogant, though he didn’t mind boasting about the occasional battle, and he was quick to ask her questions about her own life. The conversation flowed so smoothly that it was afternoon before she knew it.
The warriors rowed the ship towards the muddy bank until one of the men in front jumped out to splash through the shallow water near the shore. He held a lead line and pulled them until the bottom of the ship jolted across the sandy bottom.
‘We are to take a break,’ Henrik responded to her questioning look. He blushed charmingly as he stood and gently took hold of her elbow to guide her over to the side of the ship. All of the other men seemed to be looking at her strangely. Henrik jumped over the side and took hold of her waist, turning neatly to place her on the shore so that she didn’t get her clothing wet. When she stood mutely wondering at the strange tinge of colour high on his cheeks, the pink turned to red. ‘You can...’ he gestured towards a copse of trees ‘...see to your needs.’
Her eyes widened as she finally understood that this stop was for her. Most of the other men had stayed in the boat. It was her turn to blush when she realised that they wouldn’t need to leave it to relieve themselves. She was probably the sole reason they had stopped. Turning blindly in embarrassment, she hurried to the thicket of trees and made certain that she was well hidden before seeing to her personal needs.
When she was nearly finished, a loud shout interrupted her and made her heart practically leap into her throat. It was a man, but the voice sounded too far away to be from one of the warriors accompanying her. A flurry of activity came from the vicinity of the ship as warriors came to their feet, their boots scraping across the wooden bottom. Ellan hurried to arrange her skirt, her breath coming in short gasps as she braced herself for some sort of attack.
Uncertainty churned in her stomach as she peeked around the tree. A second longship was approaching, coming from upstream, the direction their boat had been heading. This one seemed a bit bigger than the karvi. It was filled with Danes and at least a few Saxon warriors sprinkled in the mix. The man who stood in front was dressed in leathers and chainmail, not the everyday tunics and wool of the men who accompanied her. He was dressed for battle.
He called out again in the Norse tongue and Henrik called back. They spoke some sort of greeting, but there was a sense of urgency in the exchange. The men in the longship had paused in their rowing, but no one made as if they were preparing to disembark. Instead, the leader—a man she recognised as one of Lord Vidar’s trusted men now that they were closer—held his hands cupped around his mouth and called out. Her Norse wasn’t yet conversational, but she understood from the exchange that there had been a battle. Banford had been attacked. There had been casualties. A flurry of back and forth followed, but it was too fast and she couldn’t keep up.
She hurried forward, her feet slipping and sliding down the muddy embankment in her hurry to get to Henrik. He glanced her way in acknowledgment, but was intent on listening to the warrior on the ship. He called out one last time as the men picked up their oars and began to row, obviously in a hurry to get to Alvey. She recognised it as the customary send-off the Danes gave one another. Something about having favourable wind.
‘Please, ask him about Elswyth,’ she urged. ‘Is she hurt?’
Henrik shook his head. Had they known each other better, she had the feeling he would have reached out and touched her shoulder, perhaps even embraced her. Instead, he looked at her with calm and understanding eyes. ‘Your sister is well and uninjured. The casualties were warriors and several Banford men.’
Now that she was assured of Elswyth’s safety, her thoughts turned to Aevir. ‘Casualties?’
He nodded. ‘A handful of warriors were killed and there are several injured.’
Henrik held his shoulders stiffly and there was a strange murmuring going on with the warriors in the ship that she’d been too concerned with Elswyth’s fate to notice a moment ago. It was now that she discerned Henrik’s tight jaw.
‘There’s more. What is it?’ she asked, placing her hand on his forearm.
‘It’s Aevir. He’s been gravely injured.’
‘How injured? What happened to him?’
He shook his head. ‘A gouge on his leg, a head wound, possibly more.’
The world could have tipped out from under her and she wouldn’t have noticed. Aevir’s final words came back to her.
‘I vow to you that I will find your sister. I will bring her home.’
Had she done this? Had he been injured because of his promise to her? What if he didn’t survive? The pain of that thought was too much to contemplate.
To Henrik she said, ‘We have to hurry.’ She needed to see for herself the extent of his injuries.
* * *
The rest of the trip passed in a blur of anxiety for Ellan. Henrik pressed food into her hands, but she didn’t taste it. She kept imagining Aevir lying on the ground, in pain and needing help. Of course he was receiving help from the other Danes and he was probably in better hands than she could provide. Her only experience of nursing was in aiding her siblings through common ailments. The worst injury she had faced was the time she and Elswyth had wrapped Galan’s broken foot. She kept telling herself this, but it did nothing to ease her worry or the incomprehensible feeling that he needed her.
They were forced to stop for a few hours of rest that night. Low clouds had completely obliterated the sliver of the moon, making it too dark to see so that Henrik declared it too unsafe to continue. Ellan bedded down in the bottom of the boat, wrapped in the fur cloak Lady Gwendolyn had loaned her. There was some leftover snow on the ground but, thankfully, it wasn’t actively snowing. Henrik produced another fur from a trunk in the back of the ship and gently draped it over her. She murmured her thanks, but when it did little to make her warm, she began to suspect that the chill she felt came from within.
She didn’t know why Aevir had become so important to her. She only knew that it would be a great tragedy if he was taken from her world.
Chapter Five (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Aevir awoke to the morning of his wedding. His heart leapt in joy and anticipation as he recognised the beginning of the familiar dream. It was one of his favourites, but one he rarely had any more. The sky had been grey for the last few days, but on this day Thor had seen fit to grant them blue skies and a warm wind from the south. A good omen. Aevir murmured a vow of thanks and grinned as it echoed across the valley floor and up the snow-covered peak in the distance.
Hands came from nowhere, patting his back, ruffling his hair as his friends teased him about the coming wedding. He’d known them as a boy, so he accepted the taunts as his due as they all set off across the vale to claim his bride. Though the dream was as vivid as if he were there, he found himself marvelling at how real the thigh-high grasses felt tickling his palm. His dream had never been this intense before, or had it? If this was how the grass felt, perhaps he could feel Sefa again, too. He started running, anxious to reach her.
The group arrived in Sefa’s village almost instantly, another indication that he was dreaming. Melancholy threatened to accompany the thought, but he pushed it aside, content to live in his dream. Though his bride had warned him of the superstition in her village that required the bride to hide from the groom until the ceremony, he was unprepared for the wait. He wanted to see her, to reassure himself that she was as happy to see him as he was to see her. Instead, he was thwarted by her family. It was his duty to meet her extended relatives and face the unasked question burning in their eyes.
How was he—the son of a slave and unacknowledged bastard—deserving of a woman as fair and decent as Sefa? It didn’t matter that he had worked tirelessly since being granted his freedom. That he had earned the coin necessary to pay her bride price. Or even that he had enough left over to provide a small home for her. Deep down where it counted, he still felt unworthy of her, the youngest daughter of a farmer.
His anxiety stayed with him until the moment she appeared at dusk. This was a dream, so she floated over the ground, the air streaming out behind her in rivulets as if she were moving through water. Everyone parted for her and when she was close enough that he could read the joy in her eyes, his unease vanished. The feeling of well-being that was always present between them took its place. His eyes drifted closed as he allowed himself a moment to soak in her presence. He was attuned to her in a way that went beyond vision, beyond words.
Her familiar scent greeted him and he opened his eyes to her smile and her light brown eyes staring into his. ‘Are you ready?’ she whispered.
‘Aye.’ He’d never been as ready for anything as he was ready to become her husband.
Slowly, he reached for her. Dreams of the past had ended at this exact moment, with him never touching her, always denied the feel of her warm skin against his palm. He hoped that this time would be different, that this time she would feel real for him. He decided that if he could touch her and have her be whole, then he would live here with her for ever in his dreams.
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Harper St. George
'Become my concubine. ' But never his wife…? Part of To Wed a Viking: Saxon maiden Ellan would rather wed a Dane than be forced into marriage by her father. In fact, she has one Dane in mind. But strong warrior Aevir has been ordered to marry for duty – all he can offer Ellan is a place as his concubine! She may be bold, but Ellan can never accept that! Even if his burning kisses make it incredibly tempting…
“Become my concubine.”
But never his wife?
Part of To Wed a Viking: Saxon maiden Ellan would rather wed a Dane than be forced into marriage by her father. In fact, she has one Dane in mind. But strong warrior Aevir has been ordered to marry for duty—all he can offer Ellan is a place as his concubine! She may be bold, but Ellan can never accept that! Even if his burning kisses make it incredibly tempting...
HARPER ST GEORGE was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was this setting, filled with stories of the old days, that instilled in her a love of history, romance and adventure. At high school she discovered the romance novel, which combined all those elements into one perfect package. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two young children. Visit her website: harperstgeorge.com (http://harperstgeorge.com).
Also by Harper St George (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Viking Warriors miniseries
Enslaved by the Viking
One Night with the Viking
In Bed with the Viking Warrior
The Viking Warrior’s Bride
Outlaws of the Wild West miniseries
The Innocent and the Outlaw
A Marriage Deal with the Outlaw
An Outlaw to Protect Her
To Wed a Viking miniseries
Marrying Her Viking Enemy
Longing for Her Forbidden Viking
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Longing for Her Forbidden Viking
Harper St George
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08934-0
LONGING FOR HER FORBIDDEN VIKING
© 2019 Harper St. George
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
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For all the readers who love Vikings.
Thank you!
Contents
Cover (#u88f2915a-11eb-5f64-a1d9-e2f0d73ea248)
Back Cover Text (#uc6a7967f-6a6f-52c9-8345-4d544bc7ae8e)
About the Author (#u07294c6e-2c81-5574-a750-18c6472967d0)
Booklist (#u9f68d2cc-9fc4-5702-9ab8-25cd72ba5181)
Title Page (#u3fa3dccf-43ab-540b-863c-dfea2a37836d)
Copyright (#u4a9b9a4b-befd-5d85-b397-3cbf44f8d4bd)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#ude012291-ba46-5d33-9418-8f3e629633d9)
Prologue (#uc3328e8a-0d97-55cd-966e-08a1be8fe54e)
Chapter One (#u4f3b6c41-cb73-5f47-9a16-6aa335d9ca43)
Chapter Two (#u733c913a-8574-589f-81d7-1860fa50a175)
Chapter Three (#u04eafb5f-fea6-5415-9e3d-2dc0453cc047)
Chapter Four (#u2ddc193f-53f0-5e93-b832-8565e3ac3028)
Chapter Five (#u0aca1316-a545-553c-a86c-bae63709d3bd)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Ellan was not a good Saxon. The unfortunate insight was one she had learned to accept long ago. Good Saxons—loyal Saxons—despised the men from the North. They hated the invaders with a fierce passion that left room for nothing else, not kindness, nor compassion, and especially not happiness. That particular emotion was one that she hadn’t experienced for many years. Not since before her mother had left them. But here in Alvey, surrounded by the enemy Danes, she would occasionally get glimpses of the elusive sentiment. There were moments like this very night that would fill her with a feeling of such well-being that she couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with her to find such delight while surrounded by these barbarians.
It must mean that she didn’t hate the Danes at all. Her father would disown her if he knew.
Candlelight painted Alvey’s spacious hall with a warm, golden tone. Flickering ribbons of light caressed the high walls of the space, creating shadows in corners, but warming the tables where groups of warriors—most of them Danes—had gathered to toast their friends who had returned home from a long summer away fighting to the south. More of the men filtered inside to seek sanctuary from the cold night as the mead flowed, their deep voices rising in greeting as they approached friends. A tickle of frigid air sneaked inside each time the door opened, only to be quickly warmed by the heat from the rolling fire and the press of bodies.
Ellan should be afraid of these newcomers. To a man they were the hated Norse and they were returning from battles and pillages against honest, hard-working Saxons. Their Jarl had invaded Alvey nearly two years ago without bloodshed under the guise of marriage to the fortress’s Saxon lady. Since then more of them had come every season until they outnumbered the Saxons. With this last group to arrive before winter set in, Alvey was filled to bursting with them.
A quick look at her sister at her side confirmed that Elswyth—a good Saxon—cast furtive glances at each burst of noise as if expecting one of the men to grab them, her fingers clenching the pitcher of mead she held in a white-knuckled grip.
‘’Tis fine,’ Ellan couldn’t help but whisper to her. ‘They’re too excited to be home to cause trouble tonight.’
Elswyth nodded, but the tension in her shoulders failed to ease.
Lady Gwendolyn had invited Ellan and Elswyth to Alvey at the end of summer to serve her. For the past several months, the fortress had become Ellan’s sanctuary. She liked the excitement in the air. The fortress itself was being enlarged. An upper floor had recently been completed with a whole new wing to be added starting in the spring. A barracks had been built for some of the warriors, with a new one in the plans. Things were happening here, unlike dreary Banford, where everything stayed the same.
She adored how the sounds of merriment invigorated all of Alvey. Thanks to Lady Gwendolyn’s marriage to Lord Vidar, the Dane Jarl, peace had come to their small corner of Northumbria. Saxon men and Dane men sat side by side at the tables, laughing and jesting. Friendships and alliances were being formed.
Father would never believe that such a union could be possible. He wouldn’t want to believe. Ever since she could remember he’d despised the invaders; the fact that Mother had run off with one years ago only added to the marinade of bitterness that he stewed himself in daily. Leaving that fog of hatred and despair behind had opened her eyes to an entire new world filled with good things. She was even coming to think of this strange place where Saxons and Danes co-existed as home.
Home. The thought settled down low in her chest, its warmth finding places that had been barren with cold for years. Banford hadn’t felt like home since Mother had left. The idea of returning there filled her with dread.
‘Have you found a man who suits you yet?’ Elswyth teased, dragging her gaze from a group of men who had wandered in from outside.
Ellan grinned. Earlier in the evening she had made the offhand comment that the warriors were a handsome lot. The declaration had been said in jest to rile her ever-serious sister. ‘Nay, not yet.’
Of its own accord, Ellan’s gaze found its way to the table where Lady Gwendolyn sat with her husband, Lord Vidar, and a few of their best warriors. One of the newcomers, a warrior she had heard someone call Aevir, sat with them. His large hands were cupped around a tankard of mead and he leaned back with a long leg stretched out before him, his storm-cloud eyes partially hooded. His lazy-cat repose suggested insolence, but one would be a fool to disregard his astute gaze and the strength that lurked beneath the surface. A leather tunic stretched across wide, strong-looking shoulders. He was a wild, summer storm hidden in the promise of a few grey clouds.
If she had been looking for a man to favour, she had never set eyes on a finer candidate. Nay. Everyone knew that husbands should be dependable and staid. That wildness he carried about him promised everything but that. He was more suited to illicit encounters and things she would be better off not contemplating.
Allowing her gaze one final moment to linger over him, she traced the strong angle of his jaw and the fine shape of his lips, moving upwards to catch one final glimpse of his eyes. Her heart stuttered when she realised that they stared back at her. His cool blue eyes seemed to be assessing her in the same way she was looking him over. If he was pleased with what he saw, she couldn’t tell, but she couldn’t help but like the way he paused on her face. She tried to hold his gaze, but she couldn’t. It was too intense, too probing, as if her every thought was his to draw out and examine as he pleased.
Turning towards Elswyth, she pretended to adjust something on her sister’s sleeve. When she glanced back to the warrior, he was still watching her, this time with the hint of a smile hovering around his lips. Her stomach gave an excited flip.
‘Oh, heavens,’ Elswyth muttered. ‘I suppose you’ve narrowed it down now. Which one of them is it?’ She made to look over Ellan’s shoulder towards the full table.
‘Don’t look!’ Ellan laughed, giving him her back once again. ‘Hand me the pitcher and I’ll take it over.’
Elswyth shook her head in amusement and gladly handed over the mead. Ellan tried to keep herself steady, but by the time she’d refilled the drink of everyone at the lord and lady’s table, she’d spilled a fair amount of it due to the anxious churning of her belly. Really, one would think she’d never caught a man’s eye before!
* * *
For the rest of the evening the occasional quick glance would confirm that the warrior continued to be interested in her. It was an interest she returned threefold. Even though she knew nothing could come of the flirtation—she was a simple farm girl from Banford and he was a respected commander who could marry a lady far richer than her—she couldn’t make herself stop it.
Finally, late in the evening some of the men began to retire and Lady Gwendolyn bid them good evening. Ellan gathered the pitchers to return them to the larder for the night, hooking two on each hand to save herself a trip. Someone had moved the stool that usually stayed in the room, so she leaned up on her tiptoes and awkwardly returned them to the high shelf above the casks of unopened mead and ale that lined the wall. But the angle was tricky and the last one began to wobble because she couldn’t quite push it completely on to the shelf. Just when it would have crashed to the floor, a strong hand reached past her to push it firmly into place.
She whirled around to see Aevir standing much too close to her. She stepped back in surprise and came up against one of the barrels.
‘What is your name?’ His voice was deep with a bit of a husky texture, his intent clear as his gaze swept her face to land on her mouth. He was going to kiss her. Blood rushed in her ears and she licked her lips in anticipation.
‘Ellan,’ she answered, her heart thumping with joy that he’d sought her out.
‘Ellan.’ The simple name sounded exotic in his voice. ‘I want—’ Before he could finish, she nodded. It was an instinct more than the result of any conscious thought. His lips curved in the hint of a smile as his large hands cupped her face and his charged gaze settled on her mouth again. As soon as his lips touched hers, she opened for him eagerly, excited that this warrior wanted her in the same way she wanted him. She suspected that he intended far more than a kiss, but she would stop him when the time came. Right now she simply wanted to enjoy this with him.
The seductive stroke of his tongue against her lower lip made her tremble. She gripped his biceps, holding on to keep from losing the contact, and he groaned softly in pleasure. The gruff sound did something to her that she couldn’t fathom. It seemed to vibrate inside her, awakening a longing that she’d never known was possible. Heat began to unfurl in her belly as if he’d lit a flame inside her. She had been kissed a few times before...but never like this. The men had either been too timid or too harsh. Nay, not men. She could see that now. They had been boys compared to Aevir.
This kiss was different. It was just right. The rough and smooth glide of his tongue had only just pressed inside, giving a tentative stroke against hers, when a harsh voice called his name.
He pulled back a little, his eyes hungry and deep as he stared down at her, but he didn’t let her go when he said, ‘What?’ to the shadow of the man who stood in the doorway. One strong hand had moved to the nape of her neck and his thumb slid down her neck in a gentle caress that sent a delightful shiver through her.
The newcomer spoke in the Norse tongue. She’d learned enough of their words to understand that he was warning Aevir away from her, but the disappointment that crossed Aevir’s face confirmed it. When she and Elswyth had arrived, the men had been warned to keep their distance because the sisters were under Lord Vidar’s protection. Aevir was new so he hadn’t known until now apparently.
The frustration in the air between them was palpable. A hand had dropped down to her waist and his fingers tightened on her enough that she knew he didn’t want to let her go. A pleasant tingle was left behind when he released her and stepped away. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t know.’
She shook her head. ‘Lord Vidar doesn’t tell me who I can kiss.’ She knew that Lord Vidar had hoped to protect them when he’d passed the decree, but she couldn’t help but resent the implication that she couldn’t make up her own mind about whom she kissed.
Aevir grinned at her, but his eyes were still hot and intense. ‘Nay, I’m certain he wouldn’t, but I, unfortunately, don’t have the same freedom.’
He was teasing her. She wanted to pull him back to her, to demand the kiss that she’d been deprived of, but her rational mind intervened. There was no future for them. He’d only kissed her because he thought she’d be available to warm his bed for the evening. He was sure to be disappointed eventually when she said nay to that.
‘Goodnight, Ellan.’
‘Goodnight, Aevir.’ His eyes flared ever so slightly when she said his name and dropped to her lips again. She could see his desire for her warring with his common sense. But, in the end, he gave her a final, reluctant nod and turned, leaving her in the larder alone.
It was madness because she didn’t know him at all, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d lost out on something very special.
Chapter One (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Bernicia, northern Northumbria—winter AD 872
It had been nearly a fortnight since he had come to Alvey and first laid eyes on Ellan. In that time Aevir had failed to completely banish the girl from his thoughts. The days were easy enough. They were filled with almost constant sparring and travel that had taken him to the northern corners of Alvey’s border with the Scots. It was the nights, quiet and often fraught with boredom, that made him ache for her. The strong pull between them was attraction in its most raw and unbridled form. It was so rare that he’d never quite experienced it with another woman. Desire, aye, and love, once, but not this nearly overwhelming need to possess another.
Had she been more experienced—and not under Lord Vidar’s protection—he’d have spent his every night in Alvey buried within her. As it was, he’d been forced to look for substitutes, but none of the women who had offered had the completely contradictory charms of sincerity and insolence that she had. None of them had that particular look in their eyes that said to him, ‘Teach me everything you know and I’ll find a way to break you with pleasure.’
The thought made the corners of his mouth turn up in a mocking grin. Ellan could have him in knots over her if she only knew how to wield the power she held. It was an unfortunate situation to find himself in given that the girl in question could very well be a spy planted by her father who was known for his hatred for the Danes. His only consolation was that she did not know how unreasonably besotted he was with her. Though she was bound to figure it out if he kept staring at her.
Her sister had married Aevir’s friend Rolfe after a whirlwind courtship earlier in the day, leaving the evening to be taken up with feasting, stories and music. There was a distinct lack of women within Alvey’s walls, so Ellan danced around the room along with Lady Gwendolyn and a few other wives and serving girls, taking the hand of a man in the large circle and twirling once before moving to the next. Her smile was breathtaking and the way she moved had him wondering if she’d be that uninhibited beneath him.
That thought forced him to look away and stare down into his mead, but the honeyed notes in the liquid only reminded him of the way the firelight played over the gold tones in her hair. Cursing under his breath, he wondered how much more of this celebration he’d be forced to endure.
The couple had long since retired to their bedchamber upstairs for the evening. Given the thin walls and flooring, there was no question that the marriage had been well and truly consummated. The usual ribald comments had begun and Ellan had sat across from him, blushing with each one. More telling was how she would glance over to him, letting him know her thoughts followed his own. Lady Gwendolyn had been indulgent and let the suggestive remarks pass until she had finally proposed more dancing. Aevir had been a fool to think the music would provide any sort of relief from wanting Ellan. In fact, as the evening wore on and his gaze kept finding her dancing form, he was beginning to think that the only way to rid himself of his obsession would be to have her once and get it over with. Jarl Vidar might disapprove, but whatever the punishment was it would be worth it.
Pushing his tankard back, he went to rise and go to her, but Jarl Vidar’s voice stayed him.
‘Aevir, stay a moment,’ Jarl Vidar called.
He sat back down, wondering if his intention had been so clearly written on his face. Frequently the Jarl wore a forbidding expression, but tonight he was relaxed and smiling. His own gaze was drawn to the movements of his lady wife as she danced.
Aevir breathed a sigh of relief that his intentions towards Ellan hadn’t been revealed. ‘Aye, Jarl.’
‘I want you to know that I appreciate you giving me your loyalty. You and your men have already proven to be invaluable assets to Alvey.’
Aevir grinned. ‘We don’t come cheaply, but we’re worth it.’
The Jarl was probably a couple of winters younger than Aevir, which was young for a jarl. It was a testament to how ripe this land was for opportunity to quickly gain status, which was what had tempted Aevir to come fight for Vidar. He’d roamed his homeland, raided the Franks and worked as a mercenary as far away as Constantinople for a handful of years, filling his coffers. His men respected him and he was known as an honest and effective warrior. However, the status he craved had eluded him. To become a jarl in his own right he needed land and lots of it, along with a small army to rule.
Jarl Vidar laughed. ‘Indeed. When you gave me your loyalty, I told you that you’d be well rewarded for it. Well, I’ve finally decided on a marriage that will help you secure the status you desire.’
On her deathbed, his mother had praised his strength, but had bade him not to flaunt it. The son of a slave was not meant to rise high in the world and strength would make him a target for men who wanted to keep him in his place. He’d vowed in that moment that one day he would rise to the same level of the men she feared. Though she wouldn’t be there to see him, he’d walk proudly among them, deserving of every bit of respect that they commanded for themselves. While he had travelled far and wide, the stain of being a bastard son of a slave had followed him. It had become clear to him that marriage to a high-born woman was the only way to rid himself of it.
Vidar’s proclamation shouldn’t have come as a shock, but it did. When he’d first arrived in Alvey and sworn his oath, the Jarl had spoken privately to him about arranging a marriage. At the time, Aevir had accepted it as the next necessary phase of his life. He’d never expected it to happen so soon.
‘Aevir?’ Jarl Vidar’s voice broke through his hesitation. ‘You don’t seem pleased.’
Aevir shook his head. ‘I’m very pleased, merely surprised. Who is the woman?’
He knew that he had failed to appear happy when two identical creases formed between the Jarl’s brows. Leaning forward and lowering his voice, Jarl Vidar said, ‘I know that you were married once before. I understand if you want to wait—’
‘Nay.’ An image of the only wife of his heart flashed through Aevir’s mind. She was laughing at him after he’d slipped on the frozen lake helping to carry a swine to her home. It was the first time he had met her and still how he imagined her during the very rare times he allowed his thoughts to drift that way. He refused to think of her now and forcefully returned her memory to the confines of his heart. His first marriage had been for love; his next would be for status and nothing more. ‘Thank you, Jarl, but waiting isn’t necessary. Who is to be my...?’ He couldn’t say wife. He wouldn’t. ‘Who am I to marry?’
‘Her name is Annis. She is a Saxon relation of my brother Eirik. Her father was a powerful Saxon, he still is, though he operates under Eirik’s rule. The family is a relation of the Northumbrian King Ecgberht, so the marriage will come with a small portion of land.’
‘Not in Alvey?’
The Jarl shook his head. ‘Nay, south, but not as far as Eirik’s land. You’ll essentially oversee the territory between. I had thought to offer the position to Rolfe, but it wasn’t a good fit because he prefers to stay in Alvey.’ He grinned and added, ‘He also seems to prefer Elswyth. The arrangement is much more suitable to a man of your ambition.’
The match was a good one. Aevir would hold a strong position and have access to those who governed. He could marry this unknown woman and keep her at a distance, consummate their marriage and allow her to lead a separate life from him. He could continue wielding his sword while she stayed at home. Depending on her view of the Danes, she might even prefer to live with her family over him. That arrangement was the type he had imagined when he decided that another marriage was necessary for him to achieve his goals.
‘It is a good match. What do you know of this Annis?’
Jarl Vidar smiled. ‘Last time I saw her she was a child, but that was years ago and she’s bound to have grown a bit.’
A bitter taste rose in the back of his throat. He had no liking for child-brides, or women who were forced to marry. ‘Then the girl is an innocent?’
‘Nay, she’s a widow. Her husband, a Saxon, died recently and there were no children.’
Somehow that seemed better. Perhaps she mourned her husband still and wouldn’t expect much from her new one. Still, having the reality of it before him made dread settle like a lead weight in his belly. His gaze found Ellan, her smile bright in the sea of cheers and clapping around her. Just looking upon her warmed something long grown cold within him. He hadn’t realised until this moment that the promise of more with her had started to bud inside his chest. He was forced to rip it out by the roots, for it was a ridiculous notion. Aside from the fact that he suspected she was in Alvey for duplicitous reasons, the truth was that she was a simple farm girl who could not give him the status he craved.
‘When do you think a wedding can be arranged?’ he asked.
Jarl Vidar grinned, apparently convinced of Aevir’s enthusiasm. ‘You’ll meet her after the spring thaw. You can be married soon after. We’ll travel down together, assuming this mess with the Scots allows it.’
Aevir forced himself to smile, but it felt wooden and awkward. It was hardly more than a twitch of his lips. The Jarl seemed content with the outcome, however, and leaned forward to clasp his arm. Aevir stayed a moment to accept the good wishes of the men around him before excusing himself for the evening.
Sensing that it was now or never, he intended to persuade Ellan to spend the rest of the night with him. He was leaving to patrol the northern border in the morning and could spare one night to know what it was like to lose himself inside her. From the way she had proclaimed it her right to kiss whomever she wanted, he imagined she wasn’t quite as innocent as the Jarl believed. Because Rolfe had married her sister, Aevir had begun to suspect the proclamation was simply to ensure her safety. She wasn’t actually a blood relative to the man, so any punishment for touching her would likely be in the form of a fine. It was a price he was willing to pay to be with her.
He immediately looked for Ellan again and his heart stuttered when he couldn’t find her dancing. Lady Gwendolyn and the other women laughed and held hands as they turned in a circle, but there was no Ellan.
Pushing his way through the crowd, he opened the door and hurried out into the cold night, genuinely concerned that a man might have taken her. The mead had flowed easily tonight and the wedding had made many of the men more eager than usual, himself included. The yard was deserted as almost everyone was packed inside the hall. Some had already sought their beds for the night, but it was too cold to linger outside. A light rustling of fabric had him walking around the corner of the hall to see her leaning back against the side, her face raised to the night air. Several strands of hair had fallen from her braid and the crown of ivy she wore tilted to the side, but somehow the dishevelment only made her more beautiful. There was a tightening deep in his belly as he watched her and that more than his conversation with Jarl Vidar made his voice harsh when he asked, ‘What are you doing out here?’
Her eyes widened as she opened them. ‘Aevir! You frightened me.’
He almost despised how much he wanted her. The sentiment did nothing to soften the tone of his voice. ‘It’s not safe for you out here alone.’
His tone seemed to startle her for a moment, but she quickly, gathered her wits and gave him a hesitant smile. ‘But I’m not alone...you’re here now.’
Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with exertion. A fine mist of sweat shimmered on her face, making him ache to taste the salt of her skin. ‘And why do you think that makes you any safer?’ Somehow, he had drifted closer so that he stood directly in front of her. The mead seemed to dull everything around them while bringing her into sharp clarity before him.
She looked up at him and said with perfect innocence, ‘Because I know that you wouldn’t harm me.’
Her bottom lip was plump and moist, causing him to remember how she had kissed him back in the larder. ‘You’re right. Pleasure is so much better.’
His palms pressed into the coarse wood at her back on either side of her. He felt like a moth must feel being drawn to the flame that would surely destroy it, but being powerless to resist its beauty.
She gasped as if only now grasping the particular danger she was in and her hands came up to rest on his chest. She didn’t push him away, however. ‘You know that Lord Vidar wouldn’t allow...’ She swallowed audibly and seemed unable to finish her thought.
All instinct now, he leaned down so that his mouth nearly brushed her ear. Her scent overwhelmed his senses, causing his body to clench with arousal that made him feel drunk as it swept through him. ‘Come to bed with me, Ellan.’
‘Aevir,’ she whispered her outrage, but when her gaze met his he could see the answer to his arousal in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips.
The promise of gratification pulsed through him. He could take her here against the wall if he wanted, but it wouldn’t do. She deserved a bed and he deserved an entire night to purge her from his mind.
‘Ellan!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s slightly breathless and alarmed voice filled the night. ‘Are you out here?’ Sounds of merriment came through the open doorway of the hall.
Ellan’s wide eyes met his and she gave a regretful shake of her head before ducking underneath his arm to flee. ‘I’m here. It was stuffy inside, so I came out to get some cool air,’ she said as she rounded the corner.
Lady Gwendolyn’s reply was lost as they walked inside and closed the door behind them. He let his forehead drop against the rough wooden wall and released a breath of frustration. Half of him thanked the gods for intervening before he made his obsession with her worse, while the other half wanted to sling her over his shoulder and take her off to his bed where he would spend the rest of the night with her legs wrapped around his waist.
Finally, he took in a deep breath and straightened. The cool air into his lungs brought the return of clarity and rational thought. It was good that they had been interrupted. He shouldn’t have been willing to risk the Jarl’s ire to be with her for a night. Tomorrow he would return to the northern border as planned to help quell the threat from the Scots and he vowed to forget the girl who had bewitched him.
Chapter Two (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Ellan’s father arrived a sennight later to collect her. His arrival wasn’t unexpected, but Ellan hadn’t realised how much she had hoped that he had simply forgotten her until word arrived that he was there. Pulling her shoulders back, she forced a courage she didn’t feel and stepped through the front gate to greet him, leaving the safety of Alvey’s walls behind her. Temporarily.
She would confront her father, tell him in no uncertain terms that she was staying in Alvey and return to the tiny alcove above the hall that had been her home for the last several months. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to fathom the conversation having any other ending. If she dared to think it might, then she might succumb to despair and that wouldn’t do. Returning to Banford was akin to death as far as she was concerned. There was no life for her there.
She would stay here and find the same happiness that Elswyth had found with Rolfe. Their courtship and wedding had been so fast and unexpected that Ellan still had trouble believing it had happened. Of course, some of that might be because she spent her days obsessing over Aevir and her nights reliving the scarce moments they had had together. Even her memories of her sister’s wedding were coloured with visions of how handsome Aevir had looked in his finery.
If only Father hadn’t arrived at night, or if he had at least deigned to camp withinthe safety of the fortress’s walls instead of outside them, she might feel a little braver. A glance to the night sky revealed not even a single star to light the way. She shivered at the ominous darkness and pulled her cloak even tighter around her shoulders.
The overflow of Dane warriors who now resided in Alvey—their numbers far too large to be contained within the walls—were camped nearby. Their fires made a wide trail of light from the walls to the forest in the distance and their tents flickered pale in shafts of moonlight. In some ways, she would feel safer going in that direction, but she turned towards the small fire set away from the others. Her father was too proud to seek sanctuary with the people he viewed as his enemy.
His wiry frame leaned over a spit roasting what looked to be a rabbit. As she approached, he moved away from it and stood. Even from this distance she could tell that he was glaring at her with disapproval. It was the same expression he always wore when he looked at her. If there had been a time when he’d gazed upon her with love and understanding, she couldn’t remember it. Since Mother had run away years ago, there had been only grave censure and a suspicion that she would betray the family in some way as well. After all, she had the look of her mother and the heart of a woman. Betrayal was all but assured.
He waited for her to step into the meagre light given off by the fire, then he said, ‘You will marry in a sennight.’
Though she had done everything she could to prepare herself for this moment, his first words to her after months of separation still caused a zing of pain to dart through her. There were no tender words of greeting. No declaration of how he’d missed her, only the harsh announcement. She was a burden to be disposed of, not a beloved daughter to be welcomed with open arms.
Again, an image of Aevir came to mind. He had come back to Alvey only hours ago, but he had been too busy conferring with Rolfe and Lord Vidar about a skirmish with the Scots to look her way. If only marrying him were an option.
‘You’ve found someone to take me off your hands at last.’ She tried for irreverent, but her tone fell flat. ‘A Saxon?’
Light from Father’s campfire flickered in the deep shadows of night, casting hollows and jagged lines across the weathered planes of his unforgiving expression.
She shouldn’t have been surprised by his words. Threats of marriage had been hovering over her head like a sickle poised to descend on a fresh patch of wheat for the past year. The only difference this time was that the promise had never been quite so specific. So ripe with certainty and malice. This was real. He’d made a deal with some unknown man and it didn’t particularly matter if she approved of his choice or not. He’d foist her off to become someone else’s responsibility.
His lips twisted in a grin that made him look rather like a growling mongrel. ‘Your lady may have lowered herself to marry a heathen Dane, but you will not.’
Father was a proud Saxon who would rather fight the invading Danes than accept peace with them. When he’d found out that Lady Gwendolyn had married Lord Vidar, he’d said that he’d sooner his daughters be dead than married to the barbarians. It didn’t matter that Lady Gwendolyn had done it to foster peace between her beloved Saxons and the invading Norsemen, he hated her regardless. Rumours even claimed that he’d started meeting with the Scots to plot against Alvey. Whether or not those rumours were true, Ellan didn’t know.
Her gaze instinctively drifted back to the comforting presence of Alvey’s walls looming behind her. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she said, ‘I would choose my own husband.’
‘You belong to me until you’re married. You’ll do as I say.’
Her lips parted, but there were no words to combat his callousness. The jagged edges of his statement reached inside her, scooping out her heart and leaving a black, gaping hole behind. With nothing to warm it, her blood chilled. A shiver threatened to tear through her and rattle her teeth, but she held it back by clenching her jaw so hard the bone ached. Her composure was her only defence. He couldn’t see how terrified she was or how he’d hurt her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘Then who is to be my husband?’ She couldn’t resist a quick glance at her older brother, Galan, who had come to stand beside Father on the other side of the campfire. His face was impassive in the shadows of the night. She wanted to ask him if he approved of this marriage, but she held her tongue and swallowed down the bitter taste of his betrayal.
Father gave a barely imperceptible shake of his head. ‘You will meet him soon enough.’
‘So he’s not from Banford?’
He shook his head again and looked away. ‘Nay, I’ve come from his village directly after arranging the agreement.’
If it were left up to him, she probably wouldn’t meet her groom until the wedding. Her father would deliver her in a grain sack, dropping her off like goods if common decency allowed him to get away with it. Thankfully it wasn’t up to him. It was up to her and she wasn’t marrying anyone he bid her to wed. Not if she could help it. She’d already decided that Alvey would be her new home and this only firmed her decision. Her task now was to get back inside before he forced her to disappear into the night with him. Then she would have to convince Lord Vidar and Lady Gwendolyn to take her side in the matter, but she would confront that in the morning.
Making a concerted effort to keep her voice stable, she said, ‘Then I’ll look forward to meeting him.’ It was the wrong thing to say. Father’s gaze narrowed in doubt. She had never once even hinted that she might welcome a marriage he arranged for her, so of course playing along now would rouse suspicion.
‘Good to see you again, Ellan. You’ve been missed.’ Galan stepped around the fire, seeming determined to end the tension between the two of them, and pulled her into a hug. For a brief moment she allowed herself to find comfort in his strong embrace. Galan had been the one she had always run to with a skinned knee or when a splinter needed removing. It was sad to know that he wouldn’t step in to help her now. He’d been poisoned by their father’s hatred.
‘And you as well,’ she said, stepping away lest her defences crumble completely.
‘We’ll be leaving in the morning for Banford,’ Father said.
‘Elswyth as well?’ Elswyth loved her husband too much to leave him.
‘Aye, Elswyth, too.’ Father’s voice was a little too proud, making it sound forced. He wasn’t certain of that at all.
‘Is that what she said?’ Ellan couldn’t help but ask. Elswyth had come out to talk to him earlier.
He sniffed. ‘She’ll do as she’s told. She always does.’ His eyes narrowed and she had to force herself to appear meek. He couldn’t suspect that she intended to rebel and stay in Alvey or she’d never make it back inside. And her only real chance of not leaving with him was to go back inside now.
She had made a grave error in coming out to speak with her family. Her father could take her now and disappear into the night with her if he chose. She instinctively took a step backward towards Alvey. The Danes chatted and roughhoused in the distance at their campfires, but they wouldn’t help her. No man would step between a father and his rightful claim on his daughter. No man but Lord Vidar. She hoped.
‘If we’re to leave at daybreak, then I should go back inside and collect our things,’ Ellan said.
‘There’s nothing you need from Alvey,’ Father said.
Her thoughts collided as she sensed his intention was to not allow her to go back inside. What a stupid mistake. She’d come out here because of her terrible need to win some sort of approval from her father. She realised now that she had wanted to see him and have him open his arms to her as Galan had done, but it had been a ridiculous fantasy. He didn’t care for her and he never would.
‘There’s not much, but Lady Gwendolyn gifted us each with a fine golden bracelet. They have a small value that might prove useful,’ she said.
There were no bracelets, but she could feel the weight of the prison Father carried around with him closing in on her and she would have said anything to escape. When his eyes glimmered with interest, she knew that she had won. If the talk of his joining with the Scots was true—and she was almost certain that it was, based on his reaction—then he’d need the gold to buy weapons.
He gave a curt nod and she turned blindly, nearly overcome with relief as she made her way back to the walls. Restored to her, her heart beat furiously, pushing blood through her body almost faster than her limbs could accept it. She felt light-headed while her knees were heavy, as if she were walking through ankle-deep mud. The open gate loomed before her like a beacon of hope, guiding her steps in a path that seemed to take for ever.
She only breathed again when she stepped through. None of the Saxons or Danes on guard seemed to notice her. The yard was still filled with men at this late hour. The usual excitement of Alvey crackled through the air, but instead of invigorating her, it drained her. Her shoulders shook from the effort of keeping her posture and her legs had now turned to water. She groped at the wall for support, the cold stone biting into the bare skin of her palm, and she welcomed the discomfort.
She would never leave Alvey again if she could help it. The question was: would she have a choice? If Lord Vidar decided that giving her over to her father would be justified, then she would have to go. Disobeying could mean punishment, or—more probable—he’d simply deliver her to her father bound if necessary.
‘Ellan.’ A smooth, deep voice called to her.
Aevir walked through the crowd, emerging into the light cast by a nearby torch. He walked like a man in charge, confident that no one would stand between him and his goal, and indeed the warriors moved out of the way for him. He was dressed as he usually was in rich fabrics that showed little wear, which somehow made her overly mindful of the fraying edges of her own tunic. A strange sense of relief moved through her even as a fluttering began in her belly.
‘Aevir?’ She grimaced at the breathless tone of her voice. She wasn’t quite certain what to make of their last encounter. Because he hadn’t bothered to acknowledge her since his return, she half-believed that he might not even remember it.
He looked out the open gates as he passed them, as if sensing the danger to her out there before he came to a stop in front of her. He carried with him the scents of the outdoors: evergreens, the crisp freshness of new snow and the faint hint of woodsmoke, while underneath was layered a richer spice she couldn’t name. It never failed to make her long to bury her face in his neck until she breathed in her fill.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked with a neutral expression. The thick, blonde strands of hair around his face were secured back at the crown of his head, but the rest hung to his shoulders.
‘I spoke with my father.’ She gave a shrug towards the gates and pulled her cloak tighter around her, disliking the way she responded to him, but unable to stop the reaction. When he was near it was as if she forgot how to think. She’d tripped over her own feet and misjudged the distance between a pitcher and tankard on more than one occasion in his presence. He probably thought she was a dolt. It was his eyes, she’d decided. A blue so light they might pass for grey, they seemed to look directly into her soul and see far more than she wanted them to.
His gaze roamed over her face in a slow glide that did strange and wonderful things to her belly. ‘What did Godric say to you?’ His voice seemed tinged with a suspicion she didn’t understand.
‘The usual. Saxons are good, Danes are bad.’ His lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. ‘He wants us to go home to Banford in the morning,’ she added.
He sighed and the warmth of his breath ruffled her hair across the small distance between them. ‘Then this is goodbye?’
Something was odd about him tonight. ‘I hope not,’ she answered with a bit more honesty than she had intended.
As he let out a soft breath, his gaze met hers. His eyes had deepened, becoming intense, and his stare lingered on her mouth. Almost as heated as how he had looked at her outside the hall. ‘What do you want, Ellan?’
His well-formed lips curved upwards, revealing even, white teeth and creases at the corners of his eyes. It made him look more human than godlike with an earthy attractiveness. Not once in her entire life had she ever felt this mindless infatuation for anyone else.
The memory of their kiss tried to take over, but she shook it off to say, ‘I want to stay here.’
‘Really?’ He seemed surprised as his head tilted to the side a little. His gaze had turned discerning. ‘How will you thwart him?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll speak with Lady Gwendolyn. I’m certain she’ll allow me to stay.’ If only she were as confident as she sounded.
‘She might want you to stay,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but don’t you think your father will insist? Will she go against his wishes and risk angering even more Saxons?’
It was the same question she asked herself. Swallowing down her panic, she said, ‘I don’t know. I do know that she frowns upon women being forced to wed. Her own forced marriage turned out well for her, but she doesn’t approve of the practice. She’ll at least speak with him on my behalf.’
‘Forced marriage? Has Godric arranged a marriage for you?’ Lines formed between his brows. She wanted to believe that his interest in her prospective marriage was personal, but she didn’t think whatever was between them would inspire such concern.
‘Aye, but he wouldn’t tell me the man’s name.’
‘Why would he not tell you? Are you not close to your father, Ellan?
Perhaps it was the stress of the evening, or simply the way she felt safe in Aevir’s presence, but something made her tell him more than she should. ‘To say that I am not his favourite daughter would be a great understatement. He simply wants to be rid of the burden I bring him.’
‘He doesn’t like daughters?’
‘He likes Elswyth well enough...or he did before she married a Dane. It’s only me that he despises.’ She shook her head, feeling heat creep up her chest because she had revealed her deepest shame with very little prompting from him. ‘It doesn’t matter. He can’t make me go through with it.’
‘You’re certain?’ He didn’t sound convinced.
Nay, she wasn’t certain at all and that was the problem. In all probability she would be married to this unknown Saxon in a sennight. Her mind raced for a way out.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression becoming neutral and guarded again. ‘You could always do as your sister has done. Marry someone else and your father has no control over you.’
Everything inside her came to a shuddering stop. Lord Vidar would never take Elswyth from Rolfe and send her home with Father. No man would come between a husband and his wife. It was so perfect she wanted to kiss Aevir, but managed to hold that unruly impulse in check. ‘You’re right. I can marry without his approval. Father won’t have any control over me then.’
His stare didn’t waver as he seemed to be attempting to read her expression. Suspicion still clouded his eyes, but when he finally spoke, he asked, ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’
‘A Dane. Someone who won’t fall under my father’s influence.’
‘Any Dane will do?’ he asked. His eyes narrowed and dipped back to her mouth.
Her heart pounded in her head. Realistically, she knew that Aevir would never offer for her. She had no wealth or status to bring to a warrior who commanded his own small army of men. Yet, when she thought of taking a husband, he was the one she wanted.
Would it really be so out of the question? Elswyth had married Rolfe, who commanded the entire Norse division of Lord Vidar’s army. Rolfe didn’t seem to mind that she brought him nothing but herself. It was true that Ellan barely knew Aevir, but she would hardly know anything about any other man she chose so quickly.
If she didn’t ask, then she would never know. Taking in a ragged breath, she gave him a tremulous smile and tried to make her words come out light and teasing. ‘I do not suppose that you are looking for a wife?’
Chapter Three (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
A fierce wave of protectiveness overcame Aevir. It was so sudden that it staggered him, forcing him to take a step back from the lovely green eyes staring up at him with such a tender plea in their depths. The eyes of a girl who could potentially be in league with Godric’s hatred towards them, he forced himself to remember. A girl Aevir should not want nearly as much as he did.
‘I cannot marry you,’ he said.
Her smile widened, surprising him. ‘Ah, then I suppose I’ll be forced to find another.’ She shrugged and made a show of looking towards the warriors moving about behind him as if she had expected him to refuse her all along.
Was she really that determined to thwart her father’s wishes or was this some elaborate trick to get close to a Dane warrior? He couldn’t decide. He, who had made his living from his ability to size up his opponents and potential employers, couldn’t determine if the girl before him was authentic. He couldn’t look past his desire for her to see the truth and it made her dangerous to him. Rolfe didn’t seem to think the sisters were a threat. He had told Aevir in no uncertain terms that the girls were as much victims of their father’s hatred as the Danes. Perhaps he was right and Aevir simply wanted her to be a spy so that he could rid himself of his fascination with her.
Giving her a nod, he went to turn away. Let her deal with her own problems. She was not his concern. Except as he turned, his gaze fell to her mouth one final time and he saw that her lips were trembling. Her eyes were unnaturally bright in the torchlight, unshed tears flickering in the shadowed night.
Odin save him, he wanted to help her.
Nay, the pure and undiluted truth was that he simply wanted her. Before he realised what he was doing to stop himself, he palmed her jaw, gently stroking her lush bottom lip with his thumb. Her mouth was as soft and warm as he remembered. He half-expected her to pull away, but she simply stared up at him, mute in her misery.
Why did that misery twist something deep inside him?
‘I can help you another way.’
‘How?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Part of him wanted her to refuse him. A bigger part of him thrilled that she might accept him. ‘Become my concubine.’
Her lips parted in shock and he forced himself to stop touching her lest he take her mouth beneath his.
‘Lord Vidar will hardly allow... Father would... I...’ Her gaze dropped to the ground and she crossed her arms beneath her cloak, pulling it tight around her shoulders.
She wasn’t the type of woman to become a warrior’s concubine. She wasn’t sophisticated or particularly wise in the ways of the world. Her life had revolved around her farm and village until she had come to Alvey. Good sense demanded that he rescind the offer, but he couldn’t. The need to have her was too great. ‘Is it such a shock? You know that I want you.’
She glanced at him, her eyes taking in his torso and drifting downwards until she realised what she was doing and looked away again. She wanted him, too. Whether she admitted it to herself or not, she was tempted to accept his offer.
‘I’m not certain that I understand.’ She whispered now, as if worried they might be overheard. ‘How would the arrangement help me?’
‘You would be under my protection. I would compensate Godric so that he would not force a marriage on you. You would stay in Alvey until I make my home elsewhere.’
‘And I would...?’ She swallowed visibly. ‘I would...?’
‘Share my bed, see to the care of my clothing and supplies, all the things a wife would do. In return I would provide for you and protect you.’
‘And what about after?’ She finally looked back up, meeting his eyes.
‘After?’
‘I believe that such arrangements are not permanent.’ It was too dark to see clearly, but he would have sworn her face had reddened.
The truth was that he hadn’t thought that far into the future and he’d never kept a woman beyond several weeks before. This would be something new for him. Shrugging, he said, ‘I would reward you for your loyalty and leave you with enough to see you well until...’
‘Until I find another protector.’
He gave a short nod, not at all liking the thought of her with another man. By the time that happened, however, he would likely have tired of her.
After a pause, she said, ‘Lord Vidar would never allow it.’
He shook his head. ‘He might not prefer it, but he would relent.’
Aevir was certain that he could gain the Jarl’s cooperation as long as her father and betrothed were compensated. They would be the biggest hurdle to the arrangement and he wasn’t at all certain he could overcome their objections. But he was willing to try...for her.
‘Aevir,’ she said and then paused to take in a breath. ‘I believe you know that I... I favour you very much.’
Her gaze dipped as she admitted that and the urge to crush her to him was nearly overwhelming. Instead, he grinned and said, ‘I know that you do. Give me an hour in my bed and you’ll have no more hesitation.’ He had no doubt that he’d overcome any objection she had.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. ‘If your kiss is any indication, then I believe you. But I’m afraid it’s only a temporary solution. Once our arrangement ended, I’d be back in this position.’
‘How?’
‘My family would disown me if I accepted such an arrangement, leaving me obliged to accept the suit of any man who offered. What if there were no other man I favoured?’
‘I would hardly leave you destitute. You would receive a generous settlement,’ he explained.
Her face jerked to the left as if something about that had hurt her. ‘You speak of it so coldly.’
He let his fingertips come to rest on her cheek, unable to keep himself from her. ‘There would be no coldness between us, Ellan,’ he whispered.
‘Nay, I know that,’ she said, her gaze coming to rest on his. He only realised then how much closer he had moved towards her. Her breath touched his. ‘And that’s my fear. It would be too devastating in the end.’
He wanted to kiss her, to reassure her in some way, but he couldn’t. His heart pounded and blood rushed in his ears. She was right. It was why he should turn away right now and leave her behind. ‘Ellan...’
Something shifted in her eyes and she straightened her spine. His fingers dropped to his side. ‘Thank you for your generous offer,’ she said. ‘But I find that I would prefer marriage and the permanent security it would provide.’
It was no less than he had expected, but still the bitter tang of disappointment touched the back of his tongue. He meant to leave it, instead he said, ‘The offer is open if you change your mind.’
Her lips parted, but no words came out. He took advantage of her loss of words to ask what he should have asked before offering her the position of his concubine. Questions he had meant to ask when he found out she had spoken to Godric. The fact that he was willing to have her regardless of that potential threat was testament to how far he had fallen under her spell. The pull she had on him was nearly irresistible and he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t know her, but it felt like he was supposed to know her.
‘You’ve heard the rumours about your father plotting with the Scots?’ At her nod, he continued, ‘Do you know anything about that?’
‘Nay.’ She gave him a bitter smile. ‘Believe me when I say that I would be the last person he told if he was involved with the Scots.’
If what she said about her relationship with her father was true, then he could believe that. Still, he pressed onwards, looking for some point of weakness in her assertion. ‘But do you suspect that he would?’
The conflict she suffered was plain on her face. ‘I’m not certain. I suspect that he’d go to any length to fight you. He despised the Danes before...but his hatred deepened when my mother ran off with one.’
‘Ah.’ It was a piece of the puzzle he’d yet to place about Godric’s supposed rebellion. ‘I suspected his hatred ran deeper than that of a warrior fighting for his home. When did she leave?’
‘I was a child still.’
The shadowed look that came over her face told him there was much more to the story, but he wouldn’t press. The less her knew about her personally, the better it would be for both of them. He had begun to suspect that being near her would affect him far greater than he had originally intended.
‘A man from your village, Osric, was found meeting with the Scots a few days ago. Many see this as evidence that your father is involved, too. What do you think?’ He stared at her face, looking for any signs of lying.
‘Osric wouldn’t have approached the Scots on his own, but what you’re saying is...well, it would mean Father is guilty of treason. Do you think Father would do that?’ The distress on her face looked very real.
‘I don’t know Godric well enough to say with certainty.’ But he would have bet everything he owned on the fact that the man was involved with them. He was less certain about the man’s daughters, however. ‘He’ll be questioned about his involvement very soon and then we’ll know the truth.’
She seemed unsettled, but there was nothing about her expression that suggested complicity. Perhaps Rolfe was right about the sisters after all.
‘I should get inside.’
He nodded and stepped to the side. ‘Goodnight, Ellan.’ She murmured a reply and hurried away towards the hall. He didn’t say it, but if Godric was found guilty, then Rolfe or even Jarl Vidar would become her new guardian. There was every chance that her betrothal would be cancelled. If she spent the winter in Alvey, Aevir knew that he would have her in his bed before the spring thaw.
Before he had to leave to marry his own Saxon.
* * *
Ellan hurried to the alcove bedchamber she had shared with Elswyth until her sister’s marriage only days ago. It was a tiny space that held a narrow bed, a small table and a stool. Once, Ellan had thought it tiny and cramped, but it had seemed vast and lonely ever since Elswyth had moved to Rolfe’s chamber. She hadn’t realised how she would miss her sister’s calm and reassuring presence until she was no longer there every night. How Ellan wished that Elswyth was there now. She would crawl into bed and pull the blanket over them both as she told her what Father had said. Perhaps she would even share with her Aevir’s shocking proposal.
A curtain separated the alcove from the rest of the upstairs area. Ellan went to tie it closed behind her and let her gaze linger on the shut door of her sister’s room. The need to talk to her was nearly overwhelming, but Ellan managed to control it. Elswyth was married now. Not only that, but she had had her own confrontation with Father tonight about her marriage. She needed time alone with Rolfe.
A feeling of dread had settled in the pit of her stomach since Elswyth’s wedding. At first, Ellan had been ashamed of herself for being anything but happy for her sister. Now, as the hollow grew bigger, she understood what the feeling was. It was fear that she was losing the one person she had always been able to trust.
The one person who loved her.
Blinking against the sting of tears, she tied the curtain closed and went through the motions of changing into her nightdress and taking down her hair before plopping down on the bed and curling up under her blanket. Times like this made her miss her mother. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, lay very still and tried very hard, she could almost remember the weight of her mother’s hand on her head, stroking her hair as she fell asleep. Ellan was never quite certain if it was an actual memory or something she had made up to comfort herself as a child.
What would her mother tell her to do? Unfortunately, she hadn’t known her well enough to say. What would Elswyth say? She had a sinking feeling that her sister would advise her to marry the man Father wanted her to marry. Ellan couldn’t shake the feeling that this man would be hardly better than Father in his opinions of the Danes. In her time serving Lady Gwendolyn, Ellan had grown close to her. She couldn’t imagine submitting to a marriage that would see her on the other side of a potential Saxon/Dane battle in Alvey. Father was wrong in his hatred.
Was Aevir right in that Father could be taken prisoner soon? Would that mean the betrothal wasn’t valid? Should she take Aevir up on his offer in case it was?
Heat swept through her at that thought. Deep down inside herself in a place she hardly knew existed, she hadn’t found Aevir’s proposition to be abhorrent. She wanted marriage and a family of her own...but she also wanted to know what it would be like to lie with him. To be protected by him. To belong to him.
Pulling the blanket up to hide her face from her wicked thoughts, she tried to drive the memory of his intense stare from her head. It didn’t work. Being alone made him much more vivid in her mind. The way he had towered over her outside the hall after Elswyth’s wedding, for instance. Had he been someone else she might have felt intimidated or even afraid, but because it was him she had felt protected, even cared for, though that sentiment was absurd. He wanted her in his bed, not his heart. She wasn’t a complete dolt when it came to men.
Why then did she feel this inexplicable draw to him and the promise of more lurking beneath the surface?
That thought, along with those of her uncertain future, left her unable to find a peaceful sleep. When she finally drifted off it was to unsettling dreams of both her father and Aevir.
* * *
It seemed that she had only just found sleep when strange sounds from below brought her awake. She lay in her bed for a moment, wondering if she had imagined them.
Nay, they were real. Several voices from the main room rose up to where she slept. They were urgent, but she was too groggy to untangle the meaning of the Norse words. Boots hurried across the floor, moving back and forth. Something was wrong. It couldn’t be morning yet.
Her eyes felt grainy as she rubbed them and sat up to untie the curtain. Danes were below, appearing to finish a quick meal of pottage and leftovers from the night before. The door to the outside opened, revealing a sliver of dark grey as a warrior hurried out. It was too early in the morning for this much activity.
Grabbing her blanket, she wrapped it around herself as she hurried to Elswyth’s room. When no one answered her knock, she pushed it open to find that the room was empty. Her heart sank as a heavy feeling overcame her. Something was dreadfully wrong. Perhaps Father had taken off with Elswyth. She could think of no other reason her sister wouldn’t be in her bed at this hour.
The need to know sent her hurrying to the chamber Lady Gwendolyn shared with her husband. The door was cracked, so she pushed it open.
‘Lady Gwendolyn?’
A serving girl sat just inside the room, bringing a finger to her lips for quiet and glancing towards where their baby, Tova, slept.
‘Do you know what’s happening?’ Ellan whispered.
The girl shook her head and closed the distance between them. ‘Nay, the Lady sent for me only moments ago. I believe she’s at the stables with Lord Vidar.’
Her worst fear was confirmed—why else would they be at the stables at this hour? Ellan thanked her and hurried down the stairs to the main room. Men scurried around as they finished their meal and donned their armour. Much fewer now than a few moments ago when she had first looked down. Most of them seemed to be outside—she could hear the horses being brought out, their hooves stamping the frozen morning earth.
Fear thrummed through her veins as she thought of her sister being forced from the man she loved. Had Ellan done this? Would it have happened if she had stayed with Father last night and agreed to leave with him?
From the corner of her eye she caught a movement that seemed familiar. Aevir stood beside a table, a bowl in front of him with the dregs of his quickly eaten meal, stuffing a pouch with more food. He wore the leather tunic he always wore when he was travelling, except he was also wearing chainmail. His sword was at his side, ready to be strapped to his back.
‘Aevir, you’re leaving?’ She hurried to his side.
He glanced at her, sparing a moment to take in the fact that she wore only a nightdress and a blanket. No doubt her hair was a mess from her unsettled sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about that at the moment. Going back to packing the food away, he said, ‘I’m tasked with putting an end to the Scots trespassing once and for all.’ At her puzzled look, he explained, ‘We’ve received word that Scots were sighted between here and Banford.’
Relief swept through her and she nearly sat down as a breath left her body. This was nothing to do with her sister and Father after all. ‘Oh, I thought...’
He paused and his gaze settled on her face. ‘What?’
Shaking her head, she gave a half-hearted smile and said, ‘It doesn’t matter. Travel safely. I’m certain of your victory.’
He flashed her a grin that made her belly flip pleasantly as he closed the flap on the pouch and tied it off. ‘I’m glad to have your confidence.’
‘Will you come back?’
He shook his head. ‘Not for a bit. After finding the trespassers, my men and I will guard the border until deep winter sets in.’
This might very well be the last time she saw him with her future so uncertain. She wasn’t sure where she would be in a few weeks. A sense of loss welled inside her. She wanted to say something profound, something that would let him know her feelings, except her feelings were that of an infatuated farm girl and would probably be an embarrassment to them both.
‘Have you seen Elswyth?’ she asked instead.
His brow furrowed as he ducked into the long strap attached to the pouch, leaving it to rest at his hip. ‘No one has told you?’ he asked.
Shaking her head, she said, ‘You were the first person I spoke with since coming downstairs. What has happened?’ She found herself grabbing his forearm, as if holding tight to him could keep anything bad away. ‘Has Father taken her?’
‘Nay. Ellan...your sister has left.’
Chapter Four (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
‘What do you mean, Elswyth has left? Where has she gone?’ Ellan’s face had grown pale with terror.
Taking gentle hold of her upper arms through the blanket to help soothe her, he kept his voice calm. ‘It seems that she took a horse around midnight and rode north. We only found out a little while ago.’
‘Why would she leave?’ Her eyes were wide as she implored him for answers.
‘You know that she and Osric were close. Rolfe believes that she is heading to Banford. Perhaps to see his family and try to discern why he had been meeting with the Scots for herself.’
‘But you just said that the Scots were seen. What if they come across her? What if...?’ Her lips fell still around the words that she couldn’t seem to bring herself to say. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling out when she closed them. ‘Aevir, they could take her.’
Staring down into her face, twisted with both fear and anguish, he was forced to re-evaluate his initial suspicion about the sisters. For there was no doubt that Ellan’s feelings were real and, if she was so afraid for her sister’s fate at the hands of the Scots, then it must mean that they were her enemies as well. Would she be so afraid if she secretly thought them to be allies? ‘We will find her, Ellan.’
She shook her head fiercely as if that were not enough. Perhaps it wasn’t. ‘You don’t understand. Elswyth is the only person I have. She’s...she’s everything to me. If I lose her, I’ll be al—’ She meant to say alone but she stopped before the word came out, making something in his chest twist painfully. ‘I can’t lose her—’ She broke off and swallowed as if the effort to talk had become too painful. She looked lost and alone as she stared up at him and said, ‘She’s all that I have. Aevir, please find her.’
Aevir couldn’t speak. In her eyes he saw the same disconsolate misery he had felt when he had finally allowed himself to understand that Sefa was gone. He opened his mouth to repeat the unbearable nothings that the people around him had said to him.
It will be fine. You will be fine. You are not alone.
But he couldn’t do it. It had been five years and it was not fine. He was not fine and he feared that he never would be again. Her loss had broken something inside him and he didn’t think that it could be fixed. The ability to make any sort of meaningful connection to another had gone. He had fighting and it was the only thing that got him through life.
He could not bring himself to spew the same nothings to Ellan. Not when he knew that she was alone...or she would be if he couldn’t bring Elswyth back to her.
Taking her face between his palms, he stared into her eyes and said the only thing he could think to say that would bring her a measure of relief. He told her the truth. ‘I vow to you that I will find your sister. I will bring her home.’
To his amazement, belief shone in her eyes. She sniffled before throwing herself against his chest. It was too bad he was wearing the chainmail, because he couldn’t feel her softness or her heat the way he wanted. He hesitated, his fingertips touching a strand of hair that glistened gold in the firelight. Having her goodness so close made him brutally aware of the constant pain he harboured. It throbbed to life inside him as if taunted by the unfulfilled promise of her. The anguish he kept captive jerked against its tether like the great striped feline he’d once seen in a Constantinople market. The cat had paced on its huge paws, lunging at anyone who came near, hurting itself as it pulled against the chain binding it. For one mad instant, he wanted a taste of her joy. Like that feline, the beast inside him wanted to lunge for her and lap up every single drop of joy it could drain from her, heedless of how he would hurt her.
He closed his eyes and briefly held her against him, promising himself that it would be only for a moment. The separation from her would give him time to get control of himself again. If he wasn’t careful, she could slip beneath his defences and that could not happen. Letting her close to him in any way that wasn’t purely physical wasn’t an option. It would only hurt them both.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
The words poured out of her over and over, leaving him humbled with her need. An ache welled in his chest, forcing him to grit his teeth and set her away from him. Taking his sword in hand, he didn’t look back as he strapped it across his back and left the hall.
* * *
Ellan heard nothing of her sister’s fate for several days. The waiting had been nearly unbearable. Each moment had passed with fear for her sister and for Aevir twisting her up inside. Lady Gwendolyn tried to soothe them both by keeping them busy. An accomplished archer and warrior in her own right, Lady Gwendolyn spent the days seeing to the fortress’s defences on the chance that the Scots planned to attack after luring so many warriors from the safety of Alvey’s walls. Ellan was at her side, alternating between practising with a bow and arrow—a skill she feared she would never master—and learning about the finer points of planning for the potential of a battle and siege.
The evenings were spent by the fire where they worked on improving Lady Gwendolyn’s embroidery skills. It was something she was determined to master and the one skill in which Ellan felt she excelled, having taken on so much of her family’s care at a young age. She had also found that Father tended to leave her alone if she was hunched over a cloth instead of being underfoot.
Thank goodness he was not a concern that also weighed on her as she waited for word about Elswyth. On the morning of her sister’s disappearance, Father and Galan had also disappeared. Whether they went to find Elswyth or went somewhere else, she didn’t know. She only hoped that it meant the betrothal wasn’t something she had to worry about now.
She and Lady Gwendolyn were both hunched over a particularly intricate piece of embroidery one evening when the horn sounded from the gate. It meant that someone was approaching. Ellan’s heart paused as she waited for the second blow that would indicate that it was an enemy. It didn’t come. Friends approached. It could very well be Rolfe and Lord Vidar returning with Elswyth!
The wait was interminable, but eventually the door of the hall swung open, letting in a blast of cold air and a handful of Danes she recognised, but not one of them was Rolfe or Aevir.
‘Henrik!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s voice filled the space. ‘You have word?’
The man nodded and rushed over to where she stood with Ellan by the fire. He was younger than the men he was with, perhaps her age or only slightly older, but he seemed to be the one in charge. His hair was reddish in colour. ‘Aye. We came across the Scots and there was a skirmish. A few were killed, the rest fled back to Alba.’
‘Injuries on our side?’
He shook his head. ‘Minimal. The Jarl is at the border ensuring its security, while Rolfe and Aevir head to Banford to question the villagers. He suspects that someone there knows something.’
Unable to keep quiet any longer, Ellan asked, ‘What of Elswyth? Was she found?’
The man’s eyes gentled slightly as his gaze shifted to her. ‘She was found with the Scots, but she is safe. Rolfe took her to Banford.’
‘What do you mean she was found with the Scots?’ She placed her hand over her heart lest it beat its way out of her chest.
‘The bastards came across her as she fled. We were able to get her back. She suffered from the cold, but she was alive and uninjured.’
‘What did they do to her?’ she demanded to know more, but Lady Gwendolyn’s gentle hand on her arm silenced her.
Henrik appeared regretful as he said, ‘I do not know more. I was sent here when Rolfe took her north.’
His knowledge was woefully inadequate. He continued to talk to Lady Gwendolyn with details of the skirmish, but Ellan didn’t hear them. What precisely had happened during Elswyth’s time with the Scots? Had she been ravished by the beasts? Ellan’s mind raced with so many awful possibilities that she nearly fell to her knees.
‘I have to go to her.’ Realising that she had addressed the messenger, she turned to Lady Gwendolyn. ‘I must go to her. She needs me.’
To her surprise the messenger stepped forward. ‘Actually, Lord Vidar requested your presence in Banford.’
‘That’s madness.’ Lady Gwendolyn intervened. ‘Ellan can’t leave with the Scots about.’
‘I’m sorry, Lady, but it’s his order. There should be no Scots now. It seems that Godric and Galan have disappeared.’ He fell silent and didn’t say what they all were thinking—that her father and brother must have had something to do with the Scots’ presence on Alvey lands. Their disappearance was suspicious.
Lady Gwendolyn said, ‘Ellan knows nothing of their disappearance.’
Henrik shrugged, looking sheepish. ‘Nevertheless—’
‘It’s fine, Lady Gwendolyn,’ Ellan said. ‘I’ll go and answer his questions. I need to see Elswyth for myself anyway to make certain she is...’ She had meant to say well, but how could one be well after a kidnapping?
Lady Gwendolyn nodded in understanding and put her arm around her. ‘Of course.’
* * *
Ellan left with the contingent of warriors for Banford early the next morning. They took one of the smaller boats that she learned was called a karvi. She was surprised that it was smaller than the other ships the Danes owned. It seemed plenty large to her with around a dozen benches. However, she had never even been on a fishing boat before, so she distrusted the thing.
Henrik held her arm to help her to board. Her knees knocked together after she stepped aboard and felt the sway of the water beneath her.
‘You’ll be fine.’ He smiled in reassurance and she was happy to see that it was a genuine smile and not one born of contempt at her inexperience. ‘Sit here near the middle.’
She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the middle of the ship where she took a seat as the other men practically vaulted over the sides as if they had been born to the vessel. The dozen men took their places both on the benches in front of her and behind her. Two of Lady Gwendolyn’s warriors walked out into the water behind the longship, using their great strength to push them off. The boat glided on the surface of the river and then took off with a jolt as the men took hold of their oars and plunged the paddled ends into the murky water. Her stomach tumbled at the unfamiliar sensation of floating. Tilting her face up to the morning sun, she closed her eyes and imagined this was what a bird must feel when she flew. It was very freeing to have the cool air caressing her cheeks as she floated along with the rhythmic sounds of the oars cutting through the water, taking them closer to Banford with each stroke.
A snickering at her side brought her quickly back down to land. Opening her eyes, she glared at the source. Henrik had taken the seat beside her at mid-ship, the morning sun giving his hair a burnished halo.
‘It wasn’t my intention to disturb you.’ He gave her a crooked grin and it appeared to be friendly rather than impudent.
She nodded and decided to humour him. ‘’Tis my first time on a boat,’ she said, pulling the fur cloak Lady Gwendolyn had loaned her tighter about her shoulders.
‘I can tell. Let me help you. Look.’ He slapped his own shoulder and indicated that she should look at his back. ‘You’re sitting too stiffly. You’ll be sore by midday.’ He softened his shoulders a bit and his back bowed very slightly. ‘If you relax, you can allow yourself to drift with the river and its turns instead of fighting them.’
He was probably making too much of her posture, but placating him wouldn’t cost her anything, so she modelled his pose. Her hips immediately seemed to sink down a bit, making it easier to sway with the motion of the water. ‘It does help. Thank you.’
‘My name is Henrik.’ He smiled again.
‘Aye, I know. You’re one of Aevir’s men. Thank you, Henrik.’
The warrior was wide of shoulder with muscular arms, though he was a bit on the thin side, without the filled-out frame Aevir possessed, probably due to his youth. His nose was well formed and his mouth seemed to perpetually curve in a grin. His eyes were blue with specks of brown and perhaps set a smidge too far apart on his face, but he was still handsome. His beard was short and well kept, except it hadn’t filled in well yet. She gave him what she hoped passed for a smile, though she was still too concerned about Elswyth to feel much joy.
A flicker of interest appeared in his eyes, and his chest puffed out the slightest bit. ‘You’ve noticed me.’
She flushed. It was Aevir she had been busy noticing. She had seen Henrik many times sitting with Aevir or on the sparring field at his side. ‘I...I notice all the newcomers—’
He chuckled and said, ‘I’m only teasing you. I shouldn’t when you’re concerned for your sister.’
She nodded, but couldn’t resist her continued study of the man. No other Dane had been so friendly with her. He couldn’t be more than twenty winters. How old was Aevir, for that matter? Much to her consternation, her mind was able to instantly conjure up a perfect image of Aevir...just as it had every night as she lay in bed trying not to think of him. His face spoke of experience and a hint of bitter knowledge, but he wasn’t old. Perhaps twenty and five or so. Did five years make such a difference in a man? In many ways, Henrik was his complete opposite.
Henrik glanced back down at her and she dropped her gaze, lest she give encouragement to him.
‘Aevir has been kind to take me under his command.’
Realising that this might be an excellent opportunity to learn more about the Danes, as well as to keep her thoughts occupied so she didn’t worry constantly about Elswyth, she forced herself to talk to him and found that he was rather pleasant. Unlike some of the rowdier Danes, he seemed mellow and was easy to converse with. He wasn’t arrogant, though he didn’t mind boasting about the occasional battle, and he was quick to ask her questions about her own life. The conversation flowed so smoothly that it was afternoon before she knew it.
The warriors rowed the ship towards the muddy bank until one of the men in front jumped out to splash through the shallow water near the shore. He held a lead line and pulled them until the bottom of the ship jolted across the sandy bottom.
‘We are to take a break,’ Henrik responded to her questioning look. He blushed charmingly as he stood and gently took hold of her elbow to guide her over to the side of the ship. All of the other men seemed to be looking at her strangely. Henrik jumped over the side and took hold of her waist, turning neatly to place her on the shore so that she didn’t get her clothing wet. When she stood mutely wondering at the strange tinge of colour high on his cheeks, the pink turned to red. ‘You can...’ he gestured towards a copse of trees ‘...see to your needs.’
Her eyes widened as she finally understood that this stop was for her. Most of the other men had stayed in the boat. It was her turn to blush when she realised that they wouldn’t need to leave it to relieve themselves. She was probably the sole reason they had stopped. Turning blindly in embarrassment, she hurried to the thicket of trees and made certain that she was well hidden before seeing to her personal needs.
When she was nearly finished, a loud shout interrupted her and made her heart practically leap into her throat. It was a man, but the voice sounded too far away to be from one of the warriors accompanying her. A flurry of activity came from the vicinity of the ship as warriors came to their feet, their boots scraping across the wooden bottom. Ellan hurried to arrange her skirt, her breath coming in short gasps as she braced herself for some sort of attack.
Uncertainty churned in her stomach as she peeked around the tree. A second longship was approaching, coming from upstream, the direction their boat had been heading. This one seemed a bit bigger than the karvi. It was filled with Danes and at least a few Saxon warriors sprinkled in the mix. The man who stood in front was dressed in leathers and chainmail, not the everyday tunics and wool of the men who accompanied her. He was dressed for battle.
He called out again in the Norse tongue and Henrik called back. They spoke some sort of greeting, but there was a sense of urgency in the exchange. The men in the longship had paused in their rowing, but no one made as if they were preparing to disembark. Instead, the leader—a man she recognised as one of Lord Vidar’s trusted men now that they were closer—held his hands cupped around his mouth and called out. Her Norse wasn’t yet conversational, but she understood from the exchange that there had been a battle. Banford had been attacked. There had been casualties. A flurry of back and forth followed, but it was too fast and she couldn’t keep up.
She hurried forward, her feet slipping and sliding down the muddy embankment in her hurry to get to Henrik. He glanced her way in acknowledgment, but was intent on listening to the warrior on the ship. He called out one last time as the men picked up their oars and began to row, obviously in a hurry to get to Alvey. She recognised it as the customary send-off the Danes gave one another. Something about having favourable wind.
‘Please, ask him about Elswyth,’ she urged. ‘Is she hurt?’
Henrik shook his head. Had they known each other better, she had the feeling he would have reached out and touched her shoulder, perhaps even embraced her. Instead, he looked at her with calm and understanding eyes. ‘Your sister is well and uninjured. The casualties were warriors and several Banford men.’
Now that she was assured of Elswyth’s safety, her thoughts turned to Aevir. ‘Casualties?’
He nodded. ‘A handful of warriors were killed and there are several injured.’
Henrik held his shoulders stiffly and there was a strange murmuring going on with the warriors in the ship that she’d been too concerned with Elswyth’s fate to notice a moment ago. It was now that she discerned Henrik’s tight jaw.
‘There’s more. What is it?’ she asked, placing her hand on his forearm.
‘It’s Aevir. He’s been gravely injured.’
‘How injured? What happened to him?’
He shook his head. ‘A gouge on his leg, a head wound, possibly more.’
The world could have tipped out from under her and she wouldn’t have noticed. Aevir’s final words came back to her.
‘I vow to you that I will find your sister. I will bring her home.’
Had she done this? Had he been injured because of his promise to her? What if he didn’t survive? The pain of that thought was too much to contemplate.
To Henrik she said, ‘We have to hurry.’ She needed to see for herself the extent of his injuries.
* * *
The rest of the trip passed in a blur of anxiety for Ellan. Henrik pressed food into her hands, but she didn’t taste it. She kept imagining Aevir lying on the ground, in pain and needing help. Of course he was receiving help from the other Danes and he was probably in better hands than she could provide. Her only experience of nursing was in aiding her siblings through common ailments. The worst injury she had faced was the time she and Elswyth had wrapped Galan’s broken foot. She kept telling herself this, but it did nothing to ease her worry or the incomprehensible feeling that he needed her.
They were forced to stop for a few hours of rest that night. Low clouds had completely obliterated the sliver of the moon, making it too dark to see so that Henrik declared it too unsafe to continue. Ellan bedded down in the bottom of the boat, wrapped in the fur cloak Lady Gwendolyn had loaned her. There was some leftover snow on the ground but, thankfully, it wasn’t actively snowing. Henrik produced another fur from a trunk in the back of the ship and gently draped it over her. She murmured her thanks, but when it did little to make her warm, she began to suspect that the chill she felt came from within.
She didn’t know why Aevir had become so important to her. She only knew that it would be a great tragedy if he was taken from her world.
Chapter Five (#u24867879-b20b-5514-affa-e3124241cd10)
Aevir awoke to the morning of his wedding. His heart leapt in joy and anticipation as he recognised the beginning of the familiar dream. It was one of his favourites, but one he rarely had any more. The sky had been grey for the last few days, but on this day Thor had seen fit to grant them blue skies and a warm wind from the south. A good omen. Aevir murmured a vow of thanks and grinned as it echoed across the valley floor and up the snow-covered peak in the distance.
Hands came from nowhere, patting his back, ruffling his hair as his friends teased him about the coming wedding. He’d known them as a boy, so he accepted the taunts as his due as they all set off across the vale to claim his bride. Though the dream was as vivid as if he were there, he found himself marvelling at how real the thigh-high grasses felt tickling his palm. His dream had never been this intense before, or had it? If this was how the grass felt, perhaps he could feel Sefa again, too. He started running, anxious to reach her.
The group arrived in Sefa’s village almost instantly, another indication that he was dreaming. Melancholy threatened to accompany the thought, but he pushed it aside, content to live in his dream. Though his bride had warned him of the superstition in her village that required the bride to hide from the groom until the ceremony, he was unprepared for the wait. He wanted to see her, to reassure himself that she was as happy to see him as he was to see her. Instead, he was thwarted by her family. It was his duty to meet her extended relatives and face the unasked question burning in their eyes.
How was he—the son of a slave and unacknowledged bastard—deserving of a woman as fair and decent as Sefa? It didn’t matter that he had worked tirelessly since being granted his freedom. That he had earned the coin necessary to pay her bride price. Or even that he had enough left over to provide a small home for her. Deep down where it counted, he still felt unworthy of her, the youngest daughter of a farmer.
His anxiety stayed with him until the moment she appeared at dusk. This was a dream, so she floated over the ground, the air streaming out behind her in rivulets as if she were moving through water. Everyone parted for her and when she was close enough that he could read the joy in her eyes, his unease vanished. The feeling of well-being that was always present between them took its place. His eyes drifted closed as he allowed himself a moment to soak in her presence. He was attuned to her in a way that went beyond vision, beyond words.
Her familiar scent greeted him and he opened his eyes to her smile and her light brown eyes staring into his. ‘Are you ready?’ she whispered.
‘Aye.’ He’d never been as ready for anything as he was ready to become her husband.
Slowly, he reached for her. Dreams of the past had ended at this exact moment, with him never touching her, always denied the feel of her warm skin against his palm. He hoped that this time would be different, that this time she would feel real for him. He decided that if he could touch her and have her be whole, then he would live here with her for ever in his dreams.
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Harper George
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: ′Become my concubine. ′ But never his wife…? Part of To Wed a Viking: Saxon maiden Ellan would rather wed a Dane than be forced into marriage by her father. In fact, she has one Dane in mind. But strong warrior Aevir has been ordered to marry for duty – all he can offer Ellan is a place as his concubine! She may be bold, but Ellan can never accept that! Even if his burning kisses make it incredibly tempting…